


I Asked You First

by halfhoursonearth



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Curiosity killed the Katara, Ember Island (Avatar), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Late Night Conversations, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining Zuko (Avatar), Rating May Change, Soft Zuko (Avatar)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 92,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26799226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfhoursonearth/pseuds/halfhoursonearth
Summary: After leaving Yon Rha’s village, Zuko finds a way to draw Katara out of her distress, and she begins to seek out his company. In late night conversations, they discover themselves and each other.This story picks up after The Southern Raiders and carries through and past the series—at some point in the middle, leaving canon behind. Because these two intense kids deserve the chance to feel known, banter with a worthy opponent, examine the legacy of the world they’re fighting for, and—of course—fall in love.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 482
Kudos: 669





	1. A Lot I Don't Know About You

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps it is a Zutara rite of passage to imagine one's own way through canon, giving breath to what the series never let live. It’s been done so many different ways, so beautifully. Still, I can’t help walking these two stubborn characters my way down this well-loved path. 
> 
> Let’s age everybody up a couple years and let the timeline at the end of S3 roll out a bit slower—a few logistical shifts in canon here and there to facilitate this, but mostly just diving beneath the surface of what the show gave us. I'm thinking weekly updates; I've got plenty more written.

On the flight back from Yon Rha’s village, Katara’s spine is no longer stiff as a spire. The shift is barely perceptible, but Zuko has been a student of her gestures for weeks. He tells the needling voice of his inner-Iroh that it’s the attention he’d grant anyone who so unblinkingly threatened his life—pretty, terrifying bending master or not. But of course, she _is_. He’s never been more aware of it.

At the beginning of their “little field trip,” he was nearly certain the waterbender had summoned the storm that encircled them, a degree of elemental omniscience he has only ever ascribed to his sister. Had Katara raised today’s heavy clouds? This seeping cold? 

The damp pastes the clothes to his skin, seems to weigh even Appa down. On the flying bison’s head, Katara shudders. Below them, through mist, Zuko can see the near-black of treetops, volcanic sand. 

“We should stop, Katara,” he says, not expecting a response. Vengeful-eyebrows-Katara is frankly much easier for Zuko to interact with than the girl who hums sweetly over the cooking fire, whose eyes sparkle when she spars, who has an encouraging word or touch for everyone but him.

Yesterday, as he stood by her against all their friends, there had been a certain pride: _only I understand._ Throughout their journey, she had accepted him as her second without question, had bent alongside him in furious, exhilarating harmony, had spoken openly of her mother, just as she had under Ba Sing Se. _Only I can grant her this._ Or so he had felt. Zuko sees his folly now, but still he feels _connected_ ; her current paralysis tugs at something confused and tender in his chest. 

He climbs carefully down Appa, knees braced wide on the bison’s wet, wooly neck, pausing just over a foot behind her. Not wishing to knock her off kilter, he wraps one palm around her elbow. She startles, but does not shift away, and he softens his fingers over her arm. 

Katara looks at where he touches her and pushes the reins toward him. He scoots slightly closer so that he can take them in each hand without losing balance. Her hair, winding so close to his face, smells like smoke, sweat and something citrusy he’s come to associate with the Avatar’s camp.

He directs the bison toward the island—tiny, jagged, one of the uninhabited volcanic islets that pepper the sea north of the Fire archipelago. With the low cloud cover and waning daylight, he considers this a risk they can afford. 

* * *

As Katara sits with her feet in the tide, Zuko drags their bedrolls and packs into an even-floored cave, chops a tree, convinces Appa to carry it to the beach and hacks at its trunk miserably with his blades. He heats the wood until it has dried of rainwater and piles it by the cave mouth. _Waiting on peasants now, Zuzu?_ Inner-Azula tends to appear when she is least wanted. He unpacks dried meat, peels two mangoes and brings them to where the waterbender sits alongside her vast element.

Katara takes the food into her palms and rests them in her lap. He won’t push her yet—to eat, to sleep, to talk about what happened. Despite what his uncle says, he can practice patience when success is this tenuous. At least, he is learning. And he has never felt more like his uncle than he does now, trying to coax a taciturn teenager to speak of a thwarted vendetta. Maybe that’s why it matters to him so much, to reach her _._

He removes his shoes, rolls his pants to his knees, and sits at her side. “I think,” he says between bites of his own mango, “this is the longest you’ve gone without berating me since I joined your group.” He kicks out into the sea so it will lap gently at her legs. 

The rain has stopped, and the early evening air is silky and dry. It lifts her hair in rippling waves, the only part of her in motion.

He tries a different approach. “I could have killed my father on the day of the eclipse.” 

He can tell he has Katara’s attention now. “I had my dao blades, and he had nothing. Only weak benders would ever _deign_ to learn a weapon, after all. Did you know I couldn’t bend at all until I was seven?” He allows her a chance to respond, though he knows she won’t—not yet. 

“I’d had tutors since I was a toddler, but I had no real gift, not like my sister. Azula breathed fire before she spoke, of course. I bet you were like that. I mean, not breathing water, obviously, but you’re natural like that, right? I saw how quickly you improved once you started training. I’d have admired it if it wasn’t incredibly inconvenient for me personally.”

Zuko is not a big talker, hasn’t been since his loose tongue cost him a face quadrant, and when he does speak at length he has a tendency to ramble this way. Today that suits his aims. He has been on the receiving end of many such chat offensives from his uncle, so he knows their shape and tenor. He hooked her attention with the promise of desired information; now he’s wandering off course, trying her patience.

“So I had my blades, but I told Ozai it wasn’t my destiny to kill him, it was the Avatar’s.” He can sense her stiffen beside him. “That’s true, of course. The spurned prince murdering the Fire Lord during the black sun with lowly blades? It would have just plunged the nation into chaos, would probably have lost me my life. My father still called me a coward though.” 

Zuko chances a direct glance in her direction, takes in her frown. “And the thing is, Katara, he’s probably right. After everything, a part of me _still_ hoped he would change his mind if I was standing there right in front of him speaking the truth, that maybe he would want me there, see my worth. And I... If I’m not a coward, I’m at least a fool.” 

He waits. As the tides lap at their feet, the gentle sound begins to grate. 

So this is how it is. He has once again told this girl painful things about himself that he didn’t even know were true until he spoke them, and it isn’t enough. 

_It never will be, will it?_ And what is it about this stubborn waterbender that always leaves him so cut open? Inner-Azula laughs uproariously. “I’ll go light the campfire,” he mutters, readying to stand, but Katara stops him, placing small, cool fingers on his hand.

“What you did in the Catacombs,” she says, then pauses.

“Yes?” he braces himself.

“I think I get it now.”

“You—what?” Whatever he expected would break her silence, this isn’t it. 

“If I thought I could really get back home. I mean...with my parents...the way it was. Well, I would probably do just about anything. If that’s what was on the line, I bet I could have killed that man.”

He settles back beside her. He wonders if she can hear his heart racing from where their fingers touch. “Do you think that’s a good thing?”  
  
“I don’t know. Aang wouldn’t think so.”

“Aang isn’t here.”

“No,” she finally turns to face him fully, “he isn’t.” In the emerging evening light, her eyes look full of flame.

“Katara,” he says quickly; he will not miss this fleeting window.“I know it doesn’t fix anything, but I really did regret my choice in Ba Sing Se.”

“Obviously,” she breaks the overwhelming eye contact, but her voice remains soft. “You came.”

He nods. “I mean before that. When I went with Azula...it didn’t take long for everything to fall apart, and then I could see that I’d made yet another horrible mistake, probably my worst yet. I should have known the home I loved didn’t exist anymore. My mother was still gone, and my father only welcomed me with praise because Azula told him I killed the Avatar—”

“What? But even if Aang had...I mean, she was the one who—”  
  
“I know. I know, but it’s like being a fly in a web with my sister, always has been. She wanted me near her for some reason, but totally _trapped_. Like, if she could be in complete control, I could have the things I wanted—my father’s approval, my title, the palace, Mai—”  
  
“Mai?”

“Oh yeah, um. My...well, my ex-girlfriend, I guess.”

Katara’s brows furrow, and she mimics hurling a blade into the ocean. “Knives?”

“Your form is terrible, but yes.”

“Hmm.” 

“What?” 

“She’s pretty.” 

“So what? You didn’t think I would have a pretty girlfriend?” He turns the scarred part of his face away from her.

“No, no. That’s not what I meant.” The whole moment echoes. “There’s just a lot I don’t know about you.”

“Oh,” he says, sneaking a glance at her, “well you can,” his mouth just keeps moving, “I mean, if you want to. You can ask me whatever.” He hopes the sunset light hides the way his face flushes.

She considers this for a moment as she finally takes a bite of her mango. “You said when you were at the palace you realized what you did in Ba Sing Se was your biggest mistake… Do you really mean that?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “Yeah.” She’s waiting for more, and isn’t this what he just signed up for? “Uncle had been a father to me for years—and, well, you saw what I was like then—I’d been too proud, angry and just…stupid to see it. When I visited him in prison, he would barely speak to me.”

“Oh, Zuko.” She’s watching him with those kind, familiar eyes.

“And you. You had been so...” He pauses, blinks at the horizon. “Even with uncle, it always felt like whatever I was figuring out, it wasn’t enough, or it wasn’t everything. Since my banishment, I’d never had anyone listen to me the way you did in those caves, the way you are.” 

This is only part of the truth, and the urge to say more is confusing and strong, but already he is worried she will pity him. _This is really as good as it gets for you? How sad._

“I know what you mean.” 

“What are you talking about? Your family—Sokka, Aang. Okay, maybe not Toph, sure, but…” 

She’s shaking her head. “Dad was always away at war, and we were the only kids around our age. I love Sokka, and I’m really, really lucky to have a sibling like him. So I’ve discovered,” she looks up at him, “no offense.”

“None taken, believe me.”

“We just have really different feelings about everything that happened back home. When I get upset he just wants to fix it for me, and that’s not really...it just makes me feel worse, most times, to be honest. And Aang, he’s lost so much, there’s so much on his shoulders. I need to be someone else for him.” Zuko’s mind snags on this, but he says nothing as she takes a big breath. “I can’t believe the stuff I said to them before we left. And you just...stuck with me. Like you got it, get it. Me.”

“I’d like to.”

“Even after I’ve been so nasty to you?”

He shrugs. “I deserved it.”

“Probably,” she says, but she’s smirking.

“You’re different than I thought you were, you know. I think...you’re a lot more like me than I expected.” He looks quickly at her. “A much better person, though.”

“Well yes, I haven’t tied any helpless young women to trees recently—” 

“Helpless!”

“Or you know, burnt down any villages.” 

“I’m really working on changing, you—”

“I know!” she says, then quieter, “I see it, Zuko. It’s possible...you might not be so bad.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Can you say it a little louder? Maybe send a quick messenger hawk for the folks back home?”

“Come on, jerkbender.” She stands, offering a hand for him to follow. “Shouldn’t we do something with all that firewood you spent so many grunts chopping up?”

* * *

Katara _is_ a far different person than Zuko had thought. In the Crystal Catacombs, her forgiveness had seemed so freely given. Sure, at first she hurled grievances at his back, but once he opened up to her, she’d really _listened_. 

Then she had been the first person to touch his scar since the doctor who bound it, offering to heal him with the bending his family had tried to eradicate from the earth. It was a moment so impossible, staggering, tender—he can remember her finger on his lips, the elation in his chest, how it shimmered, rising and rising. 

And then she was running into Aang’s arms. And then the Avatar was glaring at him. And the flame she lit was too new and confounding to endure Azula’s blinding conflagration of everything he’d chased around the world for three horrible years.

Once he reentered the palace, though, the girl in the caves drifted into his mind in desperate moments. When his uncle turned away from him, when Mai _hmmed_ her way through his worries, when sleep refused to come—he could retreat into his memory and find absolution against all odds, a spirit of forgiveness with blue eyes and soft hands.

So at the Air Temple, when Katara showed up at the door to his room, he had briefly expected a triumphant reunion. _I never gave up on you. I knew you would do the right thing. I knew your heart was good._

One of the great revelations of this harrowing blur of airborne days—perhaps of the weeks since he joined the group, if he’s honest—is that he prefers the _real_ Katara to the one he made up. He likes that her anger runs almost as deep as her compassion. He likes how she’s determined, silver-tongued, quick on her feet, strong in ways he’s just beginning to understand. He likes that she’s just as forgiving as he thought she could be, but it is hard won. _There is honor in this_. 

By the time Zuko puts out the campfire and they pile into the cave mouth, Katara can’t seem to stop yawning. This has been an exhausting, rattling journey even if this evening has been...something certainly better...and he can only imagine how Katara must feel. But he is not so tired that he can avoid hyper-awareness about settling down to bed, just the two of them, mere feet apart. 

The novelty is embarrassing, as is his awkwardness as he waits for her to fully settle under her blanket before he even claims his sleeping space. Any time Zuko managed to sneak Mai into his chambers at the palace, Azula broke up the fun before she could spend the night. Not that Katara wants anything to do with him that way, not that he’s thinking about _that_ with her. 

No, he is simply...cognizant. _There is no harm in noticing a pretty girl—_ will his inner-Iroh ever shut up?— _I was a young man once, too, my nephew_. So, fine, he’s aware of it all, the moonlit curve of her hip under the blanket, the smooth-looking tendrils of her splayed hair, the soft sound of her slowing breaths. Katara’s beauty is objective; noting it means nothing.

They are stretched parallel along the outer edges of the narrow cave, facing inward, and the last thing he sees before dozing off is the sleepy blinking of blue eyes.

* * *

When they land by their friends the next day, Katara seems at first to regress. She turns her back on the camp and walks to where she can put her feet in the surf in silence.

Zuko talks to Aang before the Avatar can crowd her with questions, but this is perhaps a misstep. Aang is _proud_ when he speaks to her. _Forgiveness is the first step you have to take to begin healing_. There is a part of Zuko that hopes Katara will snap at Aang, but she is, as far as he can tell, uniformly even-handed with the young Avatar. 

What she does next may be a show of faith for Aang’s benefit, but Zuko can’t reflect on it, because suddenly she’s right in front of him with smiling eyes, throwing her arms around his neck, pressing her warm chest to his. His arms capture her waist without thought—the impulse to keep her close to him immediate and strong. She is the one who steps away quickly, and Zuko is grateful that Aang watches her walk away. He’s not sure what his face will betray.

* * *

The cliffside where they found the group still camped is actually decently suited to their needs. Sharp rock faces to obscure flames, multiple textures of earth for Toph, flat expanses for sparring, water all around—for Suki and Sokka, lots of hidden nooks.

Of course Katara ran off to cook. Had the group managed a single meal in her absence? There at least seem to be supplies; Zuko can see her chopping vegetables, her brother beside her. She’s speaking low, eyes clenched. Apologizing, he realizes. _Then you didn’t love her the way I did!_ He turns away guiltily.

The Water Tribe sibling dynamic always stings a bit—how their bickering and teasing is somehow a sign of affection. The fine balance of protectiveness and trust. The fond way they speak of each other when apart. Their bond is the basis of this Avatar unit, and though Zuko is certainly not well versed in family happiness, something about what this group shares seems wonderfully...healthy, life-giving. Maybe he can be a full member now that he has Katara’s forgiveness, but what will that look like? What will it feel like?

He climbs a nearby hill, hoping to use the lingering daylight to tap into his inner flame. That is where Toph finds him. “How’s my favorite midnight assassin?” 

“I was trying to—” he begins, but there’s really no point admonishing her for the intrusion. She knows she’s interrupting. He opens his good eye. “It wasn’t really like that.” 

“Well, I think it’s pretty cool what you did for Sugar Queen. She hasn’t made it easy on you.” 

“You could try not to sound so thrilled about that last part, you know.”

Toph shrugs. “it’s been pretty fun to watch her have a go at someone else.”

“Thanks, Toph.”

“I mean it though. She deserved the chance to choose, Sparky. Girls don’t always get that.”

“I didn’t think about it that way.” 

“Yep, most of you don’t.”

His mind shifts for a moment to Mai, a practice ring sparkling with perfectly marked stilettos, the fierce triumph he saw in her posture as she faced down his sister at Boiling Rock. He thinks of the note he’d left in an attempt to spare her that very choice.

“I didn’t know I was giving Katara a choice. I guess I did kind of expect to roll in there like assassins.”

“Well, I bet you were pretty fearsome. Sparky and Sweetness—the Sulky Squad takes to the skies!”

“Hey! That’s not—”  
  
“Just so you know, the next field trip? It’s you and me, buddy.”

* * *

They eat dinner after the sun goes down. Katara appears to have whipped up an array of favorites. Double meat stew for Sokka, rice cooked with hearty bone stock—a Kyoshi staple, a bean dish for Aang, extra fried dough for Toph. When Katara brings a bowl to Zuko’s seat by the fire, the scent steaming from within is slightly different from the rest—more spice he realizes when he takes a bite. He catches her watching him from over the fire with a small, hopeful smile.

The group makes plans for the next day—who will fish and who will forage. They need to move on soon. Sokka is the one to say it aloud, but they all know it’s true. Their position is still too vulnerable, and they’re spending too much time and energy on subsistence. But Toph has apparently designed some sort of ultimate earth gauntlet here, a chasm of stone obstacles she can’t wait to show Zuko. It is specially designed to test the Avatar’s weaknesses, and Aang has yet to conquer it.

“Because you keep dropping boulders on me,” the Avatar grumbles. 

“That’s the whole point, Twinkletoes. How’re you gonna fight or dodge in a situation where you can’t just fly away?” 

Usually this is where Katara cuts in to say something chiding about Toph’s training methods, but instead she looks thoughtful. “Do all the obstacles need to be made of rock?”

“Not at all, Sugar Queen.” Toph’s grin flickers wolfish in the firelight. “Whatcha thinking?”

As they ponder this new training tool, there’s something familiar about the energy that rises within the group, how they all seem to lean closer to one another, the familiar cadence of their banter. An old ache rises in Zuko’s chest. Team Avatar is gearing up for an _adventure_.

“Zuko, what do you think? Some flaming fists? A fire pit?” Katara asks, her eyes wide with excitement. They’re all waiting for his answer. His heart skips a beat. He scoots closer.

* * *

When it comes time to sleep, though, Zuko’s thoughts won’t stop spinning. Is some sort of glorified obstacle course the best way to prepare the Avatar to face his father? Aang couldn’t answer his question earlier about how he plans to subdue the Fire Lord without violence, and what if they do everything to prep their champion for elemental mastery and the boy just doesn’t have the guts?

There’s a rustling at the side of his tent. “Just a second, Momo,” Zuko says, untying the opening to let in the winged lemur who has discovered that the group’s new firebender makes the warmest bed.

When he lifts the flap, Katara is smiling nervously at him. “Sorry to disappoint. Can I come in?”

“In?” Zuko blinks behind him to the small, drab interior of his tent. “Uh, sure.” At least it isn’t a mess. He gestures for her to sit at the bottom of his bedroll and lights a small candle. There’s as much space between them as there could be, but he can still smell her freshly washed hair. He’s not sure how to ask “what are you doing here?” without seeming rude.  
  
“I couldn’t sleep...and I—oh I hope I didn’t wake you.” 

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

“I just realized, well. I never thanked you.” 

“You came here to thank me?”

“Spirits, has no one ever been nice to you in your entire life?”

“If you’re trying to show me what that looks like, you might want to start over.”

“Okay, fair point. Yes, Zuko. I realized that I didn’t thank you. Yesterday...was really important for me. I don’t know how I would have found my mother’s killer without you. You were really nice to me the whole time. And I wanted to thank you. Formally.”

“Well you didn’t have to...but thanks.”

“Aren’t you supposed to say _you’re welcome_? What do they teach you in that big palace?” He’s about to bite back, but then he catches the mirth in her expression.

“You’re welcome, _Master Mannersbender_.”

She actually laughs at this. “We made a pretty good team, you know.”

“Toph has been going around calling us the Sulky Squad.” 

“Toph must not want breakfast,” Katara grumbles.

“You were pretty fierce though. I’m glad I’m fighting at your side now. You’ve picked up some new tricks.”

“Sure.” she says, eyes darting to the ground. “New tricks.”

He’s suspected there’s more to the strange bending he saw her perform on the Southern Raiders ship, and he still wants to know what she’s really doing in his tent. Zuko has spent enough time at court to recognize when formalities are pure pretense; her offer of gratitude is complete, and she has shown no signs of leaving.

“So, you said you couldn’t sleep.”  
  
Katara nods, her loose curls spilling over her shoulder. “The moon, when it’s this close to full, I can feel it in my…well, it’s really strong. What about you?”

“Too much thinking.”

“Oh no, Zuko! I cut into your _brooding_ time.”

“I don’t brood!” 

She stares levelly at him. 

“Okay, well I wasn’t, really...I was just, like I said, thinking.”

“Thinking, then.” She pauses, fiddling with the edges of her tunic. “Do you want to get back to it?” She seems almost nervous, and for the first time since she crawled into his tent, Zuko relaxes.

“Not really, no.” 

Her whole face seems to light up. “Come on, then.”

She leads Zuko to the edge of a bluff. _Brilliant, Zuzu, just follow the waterbender right off a cliff._ She ferries them to a large flat rock a few feet off shore on a platform of ice and an easy, sturdy wave. 

Katara seems to have a knack for finding the most scenic vantage in any given landscape. All around them, the moon shimmers silver on gentle tides. Here, Katara invents a new game. “When we were on that island...you said I could ask you anything,” she says, eyes full of something like determination. “Well, same for me.” 

“Ask each other anything at all?” _Dangerous_. 

But then, Zuko discovers, it is also brilliant—an invitation to be known anew. And not like those months endured among strangers in the Earth Kingdom, untethered from all his past mistakes—Katara is fully aware of who he is and what he’s done. Yet for some reason, she wants him to dive inside himself and bring up pearls for her. She surfaces little pieces of herself, too, a few she claims she’s never shared with anyone.

They dub the new game “I asked you first” because Zuko quickly begins to deflect Katara’s questions with his own (another Iroh technique that proves no match for the waterbender), and she has a tendency to ask a second question before he can answer the first.

That night they are careful with one another. They ask after happy childhood memories, favorite things. Otter penguins and turtleducks. The curving turquoise inside icebergs and the gold of Ember Island sunrise. Sea prune stew and komodo chicken dumplings. The first time she felt the sea’s churning in her fingertips and the first time he finally _finally_ coughed furious smoke. 

The whole exchange gushes with the sort of sentimentality Azula has poked fun at him for his whole life, that he’d have scoffed at with Mai, that he himself would have mocked team Avatar for indulging mere months ago. But who cares? Singing himself like this, getting to know her after being so completely shut out…it’s somehow electrifying and soothing all at once.

Katara does not ask him about his family—Zuko does not ask about the dissolution of the world she describes with such fondness, nor does he ask about what happened on their solo journey—not yet. But there is a quiet solidarity even in this reticence. 

“Zuko, can I ask you something?” she says after a companionable pause.

“That’s what we’re doing right?”

“I asked you _first.”_

“Ask away, then.”

“You went kind of silent after dinner tonight. Why?” 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not a big talker.”

She raises an eyebrow, gestures to the space between them, their little rock in the sea.

“With groups, I mean.”

 _“Leaf me alone, I’m bushed!”_ she mimics him imitating Uncle, and it’s so terrible he can’t help but groan.

“Well maybe it’s different around you guys. This whole thing is still new to me, I guess. Being part of the group.”

“Because I made it hard for you,” she says, voice quiet.

“It’s not that.” Zuko drops his elbows behind him and stares at the sky. “This is going to sound weird.”  
  
“Weirder than usual?” 

“Oh, nevermind.”

“I’m kidding, Zuko. Please, tell me.”

“Okay, so...” he sighs. “All that time I was chasing you guys, one of the worst parts of it was actually...how much _fun_ you seemed to be having. It sounds strange, I know.” Katara just waits for him to continue. “Like, at that point I pretty much thought the Avatar only existed to thwart my personal destiny and the greatness of the Fire Nation. So how come he got to have friends?” _How come he just appeared out of nowhere with a girl at his side, constantly doting on him and pulling him out of scrapes?_

“I don’t think that’s so weird.” Katara says. “I don’t know what I would do without Sokka or Aang. Toph, too,” she wrinkles her nose. “Suki’s pretty great. And Zuko...you’re part of it. You have been for a while now, even if I refused to see it. You get that, right?’ You’re stuck with us now. Permanently.”

Zuko can’t quite meet her eyes, but he can picture their shine and intensity. He doesn’t want her to know how much these words affect him, what it means to him to have somewhere he can belong without hiding his history or his heart. And isn’t this the possibility he’d felt the glimmer of, those months ago, trapped under Ba Sing Se? Perhaps it’s only hers to offer, but he’s not sure why. “I’ll take it,” he says quietly. 

“We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble if we only knew there was such a big softie under that hideous ponytail.”

“Hideous? I’ll have you know—” he starts, but then cool fingertips are sliding along his scalp; she’s gently ruffling his hair, and he can’t suppress a shiver.

“This suits you much better,” Katara says. She’s smiling up at him—his stomach swoops—her eyes are even more luminous and inviting than he imagined, and Zuko didn’t know he could ever be allowed to feel this good.


	2. Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Melon Lord energy, a dash of sexual tension, a little Suki-style competence, and discussions of destiny. Thank you all for the kind reception so far; I love seeing your comments and kudos. I hope you continue to enjoy.

Leave the planning to Sokka; Katara runs on instinct. She spends so much time playing group mom that even she sometimes forgets her own fundamental impulsiveness. After all, her whims generally point toward an altruistic north star; she doesn’t decide she wants to help people—she just does. So why question it?

That’s why the whole Yon Rha expedition is such a shakeup. Katara follows her gut the entire way—the chase, the bloodbending, the confrontation, the choice to let him live—a cacophony of actions that leave her submerged in her own hurt, unsure which direction to the surface. 

That it’s Zuko who lights her way back should be even more confusing...except, somehow, it doesn’t _feel_ that way at all; it feels like Ba Sing Se but better, like he has allowed his long-armored heart to shine through a million tiny cracks, brighter and brighter, just for her. So when Katara’s impulse, at long last, says _forgive_ , she wades toward it. When her instincts drive her to _get closer_ , she dives in. 

Despite how hard it is to drag herself out of her bedroll the morning after she and Zuko return to the group, Katara finally feels sure-footed again, a little giddy. After an isolated childhood on the South Pole, making new friends is still a novelty. And the last two nights of bared hearts and steady talk have felt a bit like getting scrubbed raw at that Upper Tier spa, but on the inside. 

Perhaps it’s simply the trailing legacy of her withheld forgiveness, but Katara has the sense that Zuko would fulfill nearly anything she requests of him, need or whimsy—he’s already agreed to tell her whatever she asks. And she knows there are many dark little secrets still to uncover. Will he let her soothe them? Set against his irritability and self-seriousness, this offered vulnerability is almost alarmingly endearing.

When Katara emerges from her tent, Aang’s firebending lesson has moved from meditation to sparring. The urge to stop and watch is strong, but she wants to be sure breakfast is ready when they wrap up. Sokka emerges with Suki once the scent of food begins wafting; Toph, Zuko and Aang soon follow. It’s the most companionable meal the group has shared in recent memory, and Toph is bursting at the seams to introduce them to her Gauntlet of Excellence.

“Gauntlet of Doom, you mean,” Aang mumbles to Katara as she falls into step at his side.

“Sorry, Aang. I didn’t really think about the fact that Zuko and I left you alone with the lovebirds and a brutish tyrant.”

“You honor me, Sweetness,” Toph says from ahead of them, and Aang smiles at Katara.

“You’re going to fix this gauntlet, right? It’s totally unfair.”

“Don’t let him soften your resolve, Sugar Queen. I was promised ice spikes.”

The Gauntlet of Excellence isn’t much to look at from above: a hole in the ground, about 10 feet in diameter. But when Toph takes them to the bottom in an earthen elevator, she explains the whole enterprise, and Katara can’t hide her excitement. 

“We would have killed for a setup like this, huh, sis?” Sokka nudges her.

“Oh yes. Toph, you would have been _very_ popular on the South Pole.” 

Dreaming up increasingly elaborate and infuriating obstacle courses had been a primary source of amusement—and competitive vitriol—during their summers growing up. Toph’s creation, they agree, is a triumph.

The top layer features rows of protruding stone bars twisting dizzyingly downward—some strong enough to plinko-bounce falling boulders and others so brittle they shatter on contact, a spiral of chaos. Below that, three massive rock doors that Toph seems to control with a mere twist of her fingers clamp tightly at random—between these, stone fists reach for human wrists and ankles. Lower still, a dust storm whips between earthen columns. And at the very bottom, the ringmaster herself waits. In the wall just above her, Toph has created a protected observation deck for the non-benders, large enough for sparring. 

The greatest triumph of Toph’s gauntlet, though, is quite simple: instead of climbing from the bottom to the surface, Aang must make the full descent. His airbender instincts will only harm him here. “Every obstacle could be under his control, easy,” Toph says. “If only Twinkletoes could start thinking like an earth bender.”

“When will I need to think _only_ like an earth bender?”

“Actually, Aang, this could be a pretty cool waterbending challenge, too.” Katara opens her skein and bends a compact ice block between one of the chomping stone doors, holding it open for a full five seconds. 

“See, Twinkletoes?” 

Aang rolls his eyes but relents. He’ll trust the whole endeavor more now that Katara’s on board. It’s one of her powers, and they all know it.

“How can I help?” Katara asks.

“And me.” Zuko steps up beside her, flame in palm. He didn’t say anything about it, and Katara has yet to fully translate the combinations of eyebrow furrows, turned lip corners and narrowed eyes that make up Zuko’s catalogue of expressions—but last night she’d distinctly sensed his skepticism toward today’s group activity. His decision to play an active part pleases her, though not nearly as much as it delights Toph.

After a brief conference, the bending masters agree that Katara’s most complementary contribution is a steady stream of sleety, slick precipitation to coat the stone features, delivered from the top of the course. Katara likes this location: perfect for giving Aang pep talks. Zuko, positioned beside her, will man a column of flame, right down the center. To compensate for these added challenges, Toph will slightly ease up on the frequency and size of the tumbling boulders.

As Aang takes his first runs, it becomes clear that avoiding the obstacles isn’t an issue—he just _really_ wants to dodge, so he keeps spinning back to the surface. “You have to let go of your airbending!” Zuko yells after the Avatar, and it’s clear from his tone that this is something he repeats in lessons often. 

“Come on, Aang! You’ve got this!” Katara calls, louder. 

“Toph is right. You _do_ baby him.”

“And _which_ other element has he completely mastered? Earth? Fire?”  
  
“That’s hardly fair,” Zuko counters. “You’ve been with him longest, by far.”

“Well let’s see whose methods get him to the finish line, hmm?”

Something lifts in his expression. “You’re on, waterbender.” 

Aang appears to be stuck, though he’s in constant motion, looping on an air scooter around the layer of stone poles just above the first door—able to deflect the boulders coming his way, but not long enough to dip to the next level of the course. 

“You’re never getting to the bottom if you don’t stop resting on that ball of air!” Zuko calls after him.

“Do what works for you, Aang! You just have to think your way through it.”

Zuko scoffs at her. “Isn’t the point for him to improve his earthbending?”  
  
“I thought the point was for him to get to the bottom.” As Katara says this, something strange happens below—she’s too busy smirking at Zuko to catch it—suddenly a dozen slippery boulders are swirling above their heads, tumbling behind them. When they look down, Katara’s snowfall and Zuko’s flames are spinning in three furious tornadoes that deflect any incoming boulders. Aang is standing on a rock ledge he’s created above the topmost clamping door. 

“Nice work, Aang!”

“Thanks, Katara!” Aang calls, and she raises an eyebrow at Zuko. They watch as Aang bends some sort of stone chute. After a few tries, he manages to wedge it between the doors, past the gripping stone fists. Once he’s through, it’s hard to see much. “You can let go, Sparky, Sweetness! I’ve got it from here!” Toph’s voice booms from below, and the bottom door slams shut. Not a good sign, really, but Katara knows the earthbender won’t actually _hurt_ Aang. 

She flops back on the grass, and Zuko follows suit a few feet away, leaning on an elbow. He’s shirtless, covered in the sheen of sweat she’s come to associate with firebending practice, and his hair falls in sweaty pieces across his eyes. She keeps her gaze on the clouds overhead. 

“He _does_ need to master all of the elements, you know.”

“You’re right,” Katara says simply. 

“I’m not sure you’ve ever said those words to me before.” 

“It’s not anything special, Zuko. Mastering the elements is in the job description. But I’ve been working with Aang for a long time. Do you want to know what I think?”  
  
“Of course I do.” Something about the way Zuko says this warms Katara’s chest, and when she lets herself look his way, he’s watching her with those serious golden eyes. 

“So Aang’s a great waterbender, right? He knows all the forms perfectly. But when sparring, he definitely still thinks like an airbender sometimes. It can make his waterbending unpredictable, and often that means it’s extra effective. If that’s how he works at his strongest, I’m not sure I see the problem. And I know it’s different with water, element of change and all that. But sometimes I think we’d all be better fighters if we learned a little more from each other’s styles.”

“Uncle believes that, too. He studied with waterbenders, actually.”

“Really?”  
  
“Yeah. That’s how he learned to redirect lightning. It’s a waterbending move, pointing your opponent’s energy back at them.”

“That’s amazing, Zuko. Have you ever done it?”

He hesitates; his brows knit. “Once.” Katara files this discomfort away, but doesn’t ask after it.

“Will you show me?” 

“Right now?” Zuko seems disproportionately flustered.  
  
Katara shrugs. “If Aang’s facing off with Toph down there, you know it’s gonna be a while. Why not?”

But as they stand up and turn to each other, _why not_ becomes pretty clear. Katara’s dressed in just her sarashi; Zuko’s bare, well-formed chest is reflecting sunlight, and he’s walking right to her. _Of course._ Waterbending forms are best taught and observed up close where it’s easiest to sense and correct their flow. But she can’t back down now, because then he’ll know. 

_Know what?_

She’s stood even closer to Aang in the same state of undress hundreds of times during bending lessons. Has she failed to truly let go of mistrusting Zuko? No, that’s not it—Katara had been wonderfully relaxed last night, alone with the firebender under the moon.

He stops close enough to her that she can feel the heat rolling off his skin and breathe in the warm, smoky scent she’s begun to associate with his nearness. Is that a challenge in his one quirked brow? She edges even closer. Zuko closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

When he looks back at her, his gaze is calm and steady. “Redirecting lightning is all about the flow of your chi,” he explains. “Hold your arms like this.” Zuko lifts his arms wide to his sides, angled slightly upward, and Katara imitates him. 

“Good.” She follows the appraising trail of his stare. “Now you need to create a chi path that runs from your fingers to your stomach. Like this.” Never meeting her eyes, Zuko drags two of his fingers along her palm, her wrist, and up the sensitive interior of her arm. Warmth trails everywhere his skin meets hers. _A firebender thing?_ His touch blazes soft and light across her shoulder and along her collarbone, where he pauses.

When she looks up at him, his eyes are unfocused, aimed away from her chest. He pulls his fingers from her clavicle to his own. “Like that, um, and down.” He marks a diagonal path across his pectoral muscle, then down between his abs, rising and falling with his breath; heat follows a parallel path down her own body.

“What next?” She manages.

“Next? You pull the lightning from your stomach back up your other arm.” He keeps his demonstration to his own body, and she feels relieved and disappointed at once. “You have to keep it in your stomach so that it doesn’t go through your heart.” He steps back to demonstrate the whole form, and the distance returns some mental clarity. She mimics his movements. 

“You’re a natural, of course.” His tone is inscrutable. _What is he feeling right now?_ Katara moves toward him again—yet another impulse to _get closer_ , or perhaps to reassert control—when a rumble sounds from far below them, a clash of voices, and their friends are suddenly at the surface. Zuko takes a quick step back. Too late—Katara’s still moving toward him, and Suki catches her eye. 

At least Toph is focused elsewhere. “The Gauntlet of Excellence…remains unconquered!” 

“That’s not true!” Aang’s arms are folded over his chest. 

“Don’t be a sore loser, Twinkletoes!”

“You just insisted that after all that I needed to fight you best out of five. That’s just dragging things out.”  
  
“You never would have lasted a day at the Earth Rumble!”

“Good!” Aang hurls back. But to Katara’s relief, the Avatar is smiling. She is reminded, almost painfully, of her friend’s goodness, of all that he will do to keep the peace among them, his eternal openness to new knowledge, experiences and, always, joy. What an honor it is to be the closest person in the world to this kind, powerful person, this boy who has transformed her life, who she knows will change the world.

Her decision to track down her mother’s killer, despite her ultimate mercy, has introduced a rupture, and she feels it, though she suspects the Avatar does not. Throughout their time together, she and Aang have anchored one another in the moments that mattered most—no matter each of their mistaken impulses or surging emotions, they have pulled one another back from any ledge. Because no matter what, they have, at the end of the day, operated from shared convictions and a certainty that together they can find the right path. 

But Katara doesn’t agree with Aang about forgiveness. She would not be freed from hurt by granting Yon Rha anything more than she has already given him; she would only lose part of herself. No, not everyone deserves to be forgiven, especially when it is unsought. Katara feels certain about this—just as certain as Aang feels that he is right...just as certain as Aang seems to feel that she has grown, as ever, by their shared light. But no. Not this time, not with him.

* * *

“I’m on fishing duty, and I could use a little waterbending action.” Suki says as she sidles up to Katara on the walk back to camp. The Kyoshi Warrior could probably spear fish with one arm tied behind her back, but of course Katara doesn’t say this.

In the dream life that buoyed Katara through years circumscribed by ice and loss, she was always surrounded by female friends. She’d grown up admiring Gran Gran’s relationships with the other elder mothers of the tribe—how they shared stories, heartbreaking or hilarious, as they swapped ingredients and sewing patterns, how they traded knowing glances across the tiny council hall. 

Katara had sensed a unique power in these friendships—bonds she grew up without, that have eluded her still. There are glimpses with Toph, more and more as the days go on, but Suki? The Kyoshi Warrior has serious sisterhood credentials, and Katara’s been looking for a chance to pry her away from Sokka for some bonding time. So sure, she’ll let Suki grill her about standing so close to Zuko. Katara can play the long game. It’s not like she has anything to hide, anyway. 

They scramble down rocks to the shoreline by their campsite. High tide is rolling in, bringing swarms of fish to the marshy pools all around them. Their skills combined, Katara and Suki catch enough for multiple dinners with minimal effort, and it’s fun.

Suki suggests they relax for a bit. “We’ve got the time. This would have taken those dummies at least another hour.” 

“Let’s not bruise their egos, then.” Katara points out a pair of large, sunny rocks, and the girls lay flat against them. As the sun wicks the seawater off her shoulders, Katara is reminded of Zuko’s hot fingers across her skin, and she startles slightly when Suki speaks again.

“Sokka was really worried about you when you left, you know.”

“He didn’t need to be.”

“That’s what I told him. I’ve seen you fight.”

“High praise coming from you. I heard you’re the one who took down the warden at the Boiling Rock.”

“Who sang the tune of my triumph?” There is warmth in Suki’s voice.

“My brother, of course.”

Suki props herself up to face Katara. “Not the Fire Prince?”

Now that Suki’s actually looking her in the eye, Katara feels more twitchy and exposed. “What is it that you really want to ask me?” 

“Look, I haven’t spent a lot of time with the group, and we haven’t gotten to know each other well yet. But you’re tough and you’re smart, and even if you weren’t Sokka’s sister, you’re someone I’d want on my side.”

“I want you on my side, too.”

“Well, good.”

“Good, then.”

Suki lets out a little laugh, and the tension eases a bit. “The thing is, Katara. I’m a straight shooter. I just like to know what’s going on. And the dynamics here? I’ve got to tell you. They’re all over the place.” 

“I can promise you it was a lot simpler before Zuko joined us.”

Suki snorts. “That, I believe.” She shakes her head, “I still kind of can’t believe he’s here. If he hadn’t risked his life busting me out of the actual worst place on earth, I don’t know how I’d sleep at night in a camp with the angry prince who tried to burn down my village.”

“Do you forgive him for that?”  
  
“Not exactly,” Suki admits. “Maybe someday. But I do trust that he’s changed, and I guess being around him doesn’t really bother me. Do you think that’s weird?” The warrior is sitting up now, drawing slow circles in the water with her toe.

“Not really. I think that was the thing for me...I didn’t forgive him, _and_ being around him just made me so _angry._ ”  
  
“And now…”

“And now it’s different.”

“Different how?” 

"It’s...I’m not sure how to explain.”

“Do you want to give it a shot?” Suki is watching her closely, but there is no apparent judgment in her gaze.

“Okay, let me try it like this. So our life hasn’t been easy. I’m sure you’ve heard from Sokka.”

“Some, yeah.”

“But I always knew right from wrong, good actions from evil ones. Because I was raised to. Dad wasn’t around a lot, but he’s one of the best men I know. I can’t imagine growing up believing the world is a certain way, and then discovering that was all totally wrong. You know what I mean?”

Suki’s brows are furrowed, and Katara appreciates the seriousness with which the older girl is listening to her. Eventually she nods. “Growing up on Kyoshi, everyone wanted to be one of the warriors. My aunt was one, you know? And she was my hero. I worked really hard, of course, but I always believed in what I was doing. And now I do more than ever. I can’t imagine having to turn my back on all that, even if it was the right thing to do.”

“Exactly! And Zuko? He was the crown prince of... _all that._ And he didn’t just step away from it—here he is, fighting with us. Even if it wasn’t a direct path. It took me a while to accept that it’s real. And that even if it’s real, that the good he does now could possibly matter as much as the harm he caused.” 

“And you do?”

Katara thinks of Zuko smiling quietly in the background as she reunited with her father, Zuko risking his life to save them from Azula, Zuko standing firm at her back as she bent hundreds of ice daggers at the retired Fire Nation captain, Zuko waiting steadily at her side after she let the shards fall to pathetic rainwater, Zuko caring for her every need when she completely shut down, coaxing her gently back to herself. “Yeah.” She nods.“I do.” 

“That’s what Sokka said, too. I think they really connected on their rescue mission.” This is the first time Katara has bothered to think of that excursion without the obscuring cloud of resentment, and she feels suddenly left out, unimportant—a stubborn girl left behind on the tundra as the men hunt.

“I feel like...I really want to help Zuko,” Katara asserts, voice firm. “I want to be his friend.”

Suki’s voice is careful when she speaks next. “Like the way the Avatar wants to be your friend?” 

Katara looks up, alarmed. “What? No…I mean, Aang _is_ my friend. He’s my _best_ friend.”

“Look, Zuko made a grand gesture for you. It’d be okay to get a little swept up in that, you know.” 

“By that logic, Zuko made a grand gesture for Sokka, too. Are you feeling threatened?” 

“The way I heard it, Zuko just stumbled on your brother about to undertake a suicide mission. It’s not like he spent a whole night sitting outside _Sokka’s_ tent just to talk to him.” 

“I can’t explain what Zuko does.” Katara tries to sound nonchalant, but she feels her cheeks warm. 

Suki nods. “I won’t press you on it. But like I said, the dynamics here seem pretty...intense. For you, specifically.” 

She waits for Katara to say something, but Katara has nothing to say to this, so Suki continues. “I just wanted to let you know that you’re no longer out here on your own with a pack of clueless boys and a pint-sized chaos machine with no scruples and _way_ too sensitive feet.” Katara laughs openly at this. “You can talk to me, and I’m not just going to run and tell your brother.”

“Thanks, Suki.” Katara is usually on the other end of emotional prodding and knows that further denials about Zuko will just deepen Suki’s suspicions. “You know, I’ve wanted to be your friend since you first kicked Sokka’s butt on Kyoshi Island.”

The warrior’s grin shines in the afternoon sunlight, and Katara can see why Sokka is so taken with her. “That was pretty special, wasn’t it?” 

* * *

In four days they will move on, it is decided at dinner, once they use up more meat from Sokka’s most recent hunt. Zuko has offered up a peculiar new home base—his family’s abandoned beach house on Ember Island. It is a testament to how fully the group has come to accept him that his suggestion is met with skepticism but no distrust. Zuko explains that it has been long abandoned, that no one with access will think to draw near. For her part, Katara cannot help looking forward to a soft bed, full kitchen, sandy beach, easy ocean access, and perhaps a glimpse of the happiest glimmers of Zuko’s youth. 

They’re the last two left around the fire at the end of the evening; Katara had felt something like relief when Aang yawned goodnight, headed for his tent. Zuko’s lingering presence seems affirmation of a question she didn’t know she was asking. _Again?_ _Again._ He helps her clean up from dinner. “His majesty picks up trash?”  
  
“I moonlighted as a tea server for a while, in case you forgot.”

“I heard your Uncle made the best tea in Ba Sing Se.”

“Do you like tea?”  
  
Katara scoffs. “Everyone likes tea.”

“Oh, Uncle would like you.”

Katara beams at him; she has wanted to ask about his uncle—has been hoping for an in, but as they stack newly clean bowls, Katara feels the cool patter of heavy raindrops. She quickly bends a few off their foreheads.

“I guess I’ll just wind down the fire, then.” Zuko seems almost put out. 

“Would you…” She gestures in the direction of his tent. “Would you want to talk longer?”

“Are you inviting yourself onto my bedroll again?”  
  
“Sounds downright scandalous when you say it like that,” she says, and Zuko turns so red she can’t help the swell of pleasure. She thinks of Suki’s knowing glance. _Not my fault he’s so fun to rattle._

“Come on,” Zuko mumbles.

“Go ahead,” she tells him. “I just want to grab something first.”

When she climbs through the entrance to his tent moments later, she’s carrying her own bedroll. “You’re sleeping over?” Zuko’s voice pitches high.  
  
“No, of course not. I just thought this would make it more comfortable for us both to sit.”

“Has anyone ever said no to you, Katara?”

“Sure,” she says, thinking of Pakku. “Plenty of times. There are usually ways around it.”

Zuko laughs at this, and it’s such a rare, raspy, wonderful sound that she pauses on it, watching the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

“What?” he asks, when he catches her.

“Did you really tell Sokka that you’re never happy?” 

Zuko shrugs. “If you’re just going to make fun of me, you can go,” he says, but even as he says it, he’s dutifully laying her bedroll flat beside his own.

“You just make it so easy,” she says, as sweetly as she can manage. He rolls his eyes and gives her a lopsided smile. As she settles beside him, she realizes they’re nearer than they’ve been since their little game of proximity chicken by Toph’s gauntlet, that they are alone, that she has maneuvered the whole scenario. The words _playing with fire_ come to mind, and she can feel sparks of the simmering intensity of their afternoon bending lesson flickering in this small, quiet space. 

“So the lightning redirection thing,” she cuts off her own thoughts. “Do you have to actually be a firebender to do it?”

“I’m not sure, actually. Obviously we’re the only ones who can bend lightning, but it’s all about the path of the chi, so maybe not. Uncle would know.”

“He sounds like a really wise man, your Uncle.”

“He’s a good man, too.” Zuko looks away. “I know I said he would like you. I think you would like him, too.”

“I’d like to really meet him someday.” 

“I hope…” Zuko’s voice comes out a little gruff. “I hope I can introduce you.”

“From everything you’ve said, he’s really strong. I’m sure he’s okay.”

“It’s just...even if he is, and I hope you’re right, obviously, I just don’t know how he could ever forgive me.” Zuko’s posture is stiff and guarded.  
  
Katara moves closer and wraps a hand around his arm. “Zuko, he _will._ You’ve come so far.” 

Zuko doesn’t respond to this, just places his other hand carefully over hers. His fingers are large and square, wonderfully warm.

“You know there’s a part of me that can’t believe I’m sitting here wishing for the well-being of the Dragon of the West.”

“In late night conversation with the disgraced Fire Prince, no less.” Zuko says, voice wry.

“Do you have to call yourself a disgrace?”  
  
“It’s just a word, Katara. It’s how many people see me.”

“How can you be so calm about that?”

“Did you know I …” He’s staring at where their hands still touch, and she feels suddenly self-conscious, but she doesn’t move. “I ditched Uncle for a while when we were in the Earth Kingdom, too.” Katara can’t help but peer closer at his face. “I know, I’m a terrible nephew.”

“Are you trying to convince me you’re a disgrace? Because you would have had much better luck a week ago.”

Zuko almost smiles at this. “No…though that is...weirdly comforting, actually. It’s just that one of the big things I learned when I was on my own was kind of like...you can strip almost everything away from yourself, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like for me, there was so much I had to let go to survive on my own in the Earth Kingdom. That ponytail you hated so much, my armor, my fine robes, my titles, my name. And the more I learned about the world once all those things were gone, the more I saw the truth about the Fire Nation and my family, which Uncle was trying to show me the whole time, by the way. And the question, the one my uncle really wanted me to answer...with all that left behind, who am I? Because _that’s_ what determines my destiny. If it’s going to be the horrible things people say, they’ll only come true. It has to come from within.”

“And that’s why you’ll never be a disgrace, Zuko.” Her voice is resolute. Zuko’s hand, still resting atop hers on his arm, squeezes her fingers, a tiny, natural movement.

The rain begins to pick up, pelting the tent, a steady, soothing sound, and there’s something about braving a storm in this small, warm space together that reminds Katara of being home on the South Pole on endless winter nights. She tells this to Zuko as she lays back against her bedroll, and he asks her questions about winter, the months of darkness, how to stay warm in structures made of ice. Eventually he is laying flat on his back beside her, as if they were stargazing instead of watching the indentation of raindrops on candlelit canvas.

“Can I ask you a question, Katara?”  
  
“Of course.”

“Why did you want to come talk to me, tonight? Last night you said it was to thank me. Why tonight?”

“You don’t want me here?”

“Ah, the rules.”

“Yes yes, you asked first.” Katara considers her answer. She has found that when she is kind and straightforward it yields the most endearing results. “I like learning about you. I like telling you about me. I feel like I missed out on getting to know you when you first got here. Can it be that simple?”

“Well, don’t worry. The others haven’t exactly been banging down my tent flap for heart to hearts, if you’re feeling jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” she huffs, then quieter, “and you didn’t answer my question.”

“If I want you to be here?” She refuses to respond, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “I do,” he says finally, sounding a little uncertain, and she still can’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “I like learning about you, too, Katara. And I like....yeah, I like talking like this.” 

“Good,” she says, emphatically. 

“I think I’m just a little...I mean, when we went...I _hoped_ you would forgive me. I _really_ want you to trust me. This…” He runs a finger along the tent floor between them. “It’s unexpected.”

“For me, too,” Katara says. “Can I tell you a secret?” 

Zuko nods seriously. 

“I don’t always know what I’m going to do or say before it happens.”

Zuko gives another of those little laughs. “Something else we have in common, then.” But his expression pinches, turns inward, and he keeps toying with the fabric between them. “It’s just...you’re not going to suddenly decide you hate me again, are you?”

“What?”  
  
He shrugs, and not for the first time, she wonders about the personal intricacies of his family’s cruelty.

“No, that’s not going to happen, Zuko.” She makes sure her voice comes out firm, but he’s still worrying the tent floor, so she offers more. “What you did for me, when we went…it wasn’t just the justice you offered me, it was the _way_ you did it. Everything felt so...personal. That you bothered to go to Sokka to learn about what happened to our mother. That you waited all night by my tent. That to you, my story and my pain mattered.”

“Of course they—”

“Wait. Zuko, let me finish, please? What happened in Ba Sing Se...before you made your choice. That felt really personal to me, too, what we shared with each other. We had every reason not to. I just wanted that to _matter_...more than the rest of...everything. It sounds naive when I say it aloud. But that’s a big part of why I stayed so mad at you, why I was so hurt. I wanted to use the spirit water that way, too. Not as another pawn in this war but as a gift I could give someone...that _I_ chose.”

“Katara, I am so—”

“Please don’t apologize again, Zuko.” She shakes her head fiercely at him. “I don’t need it, and that’s not why I’m telling you this. I’m just really glad we’ve gotten here. Getting to know you...it still feels like something I get to choose. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Me either, you know. I know I’m not great at being good. Or saying the right thing. Or really talking, period, obviously. And I know you have all of them. But…yeah, you can come to me. Anytime. Just so you know.”

“Sometimes I still can’t believe you’re the same person who chased us across the world.”

“Well, hopefully not exactly the same person,” Zuko says. “I can still kick your butt though.”

“Oh, you’re on tomorrow, firebender.” She is interrupted by a yawn halfway through. 

When she feels for the pull of the moon behind the storm, Yue is high overhead. Katara stretches wide and begins gathering up her bedroll.

“You’re leaving?” Zuko says, sounding sleepy, confused, rubbing his messy hair with his palm. “It’s pouring.”

“Master waterbender, remember?” She bends an arc of water overhead to block the rain as she steps out of the tent. When she closes the flap neatly behind her, she thinks it might be disappointment she sees settle across his face.


	3. I Know It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Ember Island, where we meet Kitchen!Sokka and start cashing in on that Pining Zuko tag.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your kudos and comments so far. I write fiction, but fanfiction is new for me, and being in live conversation with thoughtful readers as the story unfolds is such a gift. I hope you continue to enjoy.

When Zuko suggested his family’s beach house to his new friends, he hadn’t thought through what it actually would feel like to be there with them. He can feel his irritability spike as Appa draws nearer to Ember Island. Sokka and Toph are pretending to be two Fire Nation aristocrats stealing away for a lavish vacation. 

“Why, you certainly deserve a break, hotman! Rounding up earthbenders just gets so _DULL_.” 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, hotman! Can you pass the fireflakes?”

He should have realized that bringing them to his haven of lost happiness would mean encountering that life anew. Wasn’t everything he relished then built on the rubble of their world? He wonders if he was floating on a warm ocean tide, hugged by island sun, as Sokka and Katara’s mother was murdered on his grandfather’s order. Perhaps he was chasing turtle crabs with a stick. 

As the house’s tiled gables come into view, he finds himself turning away, a reaction that Katara marks with a small downward turn of her lips—likely, she will ask about this later. She has visited him every night since their return to the group, sneaking into his tent shortly after the rest of their friends head for bed. 

He probably should remind her that he rises with the sun, whether he likes it or not, that waiting until past midnight to sleep is not healthy for a firebender, especially one whose mission is Teach Earth’s Savior To Wield Fire For Imminent Fatherlord Showdown. But what if he asks her for a night off, and she never comes back? He has, in fact, spent more time than he’d like to admit worrying that the change in location will disrupt their new routine. 

When the group climbs off Appa, there is a general pause, and it takes Zuko a moment to realize they are waiting for his instructions. “Um, it’ll need some...dusting and stuff. Air out the bedding, all that. It’s been a long time since anyone has stayed here. But yeah, welcome to Ember Island.”

“I guess being Firelord comes with some perks,” Suki says as they make their way up the rocky hill to the house.

“Yeah, Zuko, this place is beautiful.” Katara is walking just a half-step behind him, no resentment in her voice. 

He’s seen how the group approaches new spaces and knows that there will be a mad dash for the best and biggest room as soon as they make it through the front door. He stills a hand on Katara’s arm as they walk in. As the rest of the group storms up the stairs and down the main hall, he tugs her gently through a set of doors off the foyer. “Come on,” he whispers. 

Through a smaller corridor, there are two doors, and when he pulls open the first, he can see surprise on her face. The decor is lighter than elsewhere in the house’s interior, pleasing cream and taupe with maroon accents, and its walls are lined with shelves packed full of books and scrolls. The room is situated over one of the stilted areas of the house, jutted nearly over the sea. Katara immediately rushes to the window, and when she turns back to him, her smile is radiant.

“What about you? You’d better grab your room before those savages lay claim to everything.”  
  
“I was going to um...take the one next door.”

She drops her pack on her bed and follows him. This room is decorated in darker tones, windows shaded by vegetation, but with a larger, soft-looking bed, how he remembers it.

“You gave me the room with the ocean view.”  
  
“I thought you would like that one.”

“I do. Was this one yours?”

“No…no. I didn’t want that,” he says quickly. “This was where Uncle slept.”

“So then my room was…”

“My cousin’s.”

“Is this,” she gestures around the room, “weird for you?"

“Everything about being here is weird for me,” he blurts before he can think about it. “I mean...would it be better to sleep in my own room, with all those memories? Or Azula’s? My father’s?”

“Fair point.”

“But I know this place is safe. The courtyard is great for sparring, there’s enough room and a kitchen and…” Zuko shrugs.

“And you love it here. It’s your favorite place.” This is something he shared with her less than a week ago, but there is so much they have told each other since. Zuko has attentively filed away all her stories in his memory, of course, but it is a little humbling to imagine she has treated his disclosures with equivalent care.

“Katara, um.” Zuko rummages through the stand beside the bed, until he locates a small golden key. He walks to the door by the window, beckoning for her to follow. “These rooms share a balcony.”

She follows him onto a veranda that hadn’t been visible from the front of the house, and he can see her cataloguing every feature of the view. 

“This is the key to my door,” he says, dangling it between them.

“You want me to take that?”

Zuko shrugs. “That way you can...well, it’ll be easier to visit without anyone knowing.” It is the first time either of them have acknowledged their new ritual aloud. “Or you know, if you need me for anything.”

“No wonder Suki thinks we’re conducting some sort of secret affair.” 

“She _what_?” 

Katara closes the key in her palm, eyes smiling, and Zuko knows his face must be unforgivably red. “It’s not a big deal. She’s not going to say anything about it.” 

Zuko can’t puzzle out if it’s not a big deal because it would be totally fine and cool with Suki if something _were_ going on between them or if it’s so outside the realm of possibility to Katara that it’s not worth worrying about. Probably the latter. And that’s for the best, right? 

Perhaps Katara can tell she’s not going to get a response from Zuko because she returns to her bedroom, placing a cool palm on his elbow as she walks by him.

Zuko has never been particularly adept at determining whether a girl is flirting with him—it’s not as if he has spent a lot of time around women—but he is aware of his own reactions. And the more time he spends one-on-one with Katara, the more he recognizes the signs of his growing attraction. The way eye contact with her feels like succumbing to the pull of a powerful magnet. How his attention snags on increasingly sensual details. Sun on the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. The shift of her hips under that red skirt. The span of taut skin between her navel and the top of her sarshi. The memory of her warm, smooth inner arm under his fingertips. The increasing frequency and intensity of the impulse to _touch_. Time has begun to hold more weight when they are alone together.

There had been a period, right before his banishment, when he had experienced a glimmer of this with Mai. That had been totally innocent; they’d held hands once or twice, exchanged a few chaste kisses. But there was a sense that the space they created between just the two of them was a place he could curl up and stay. 

He had been unable to call upon the promise of that remembered warmth with her when he returned to the palace, though he hadn’t been able to identify it at the time. She was still beautiful, capable, witty—it still felt flattering to hold her eye; her touch still excited him. But she was so guarded, and Azula always seemed to be in their peripheral vision. When he tried to tell Mai everything storming inside his heart, he only alienated them both. But she must have loved him in her own way; he can see that now. And when he thinks of her imprisoned for his sake, he feels guilty.

Because what he is beginning to feel during his nights with Katara absolutely suffuses him with warmth. Even if the desirous element is one-sided, she keeps seeking him out. She wants to _know_ him, and it’s thrilling. They don’t pour souls every night, either. Sometimes she simply asks his thoughts about their days, or they swap little stories from their respective travels across the globe. There is a natural curiosity and compassion that she seems to turn toward every person she encounters, something he has seen in Aang and Uncle, too—that makes him feel hopeful and inept at the same time.

But if, after long days spent training the Avatar, sparring with each other, generally engaging in the work of preparing for the fight of their lives, Katara gains some comfort by turning her inquisitive mind toward him, he’ll accept; it is already more than he deserves. And his feelings? He can certainly keep those to himself. As usual, they will do no one any good.

* * *

The plan for the day unfolds in an intricate series of shifts masterminded by Sokka. Zuko and Aang will clear out the courtyard and firebend while the day is still young. The rest of the group will turn their efforts to cleaning up the house, each master pulling Aang for bending practice at rotating intervals. Then, at Aang’s insistence, he and Katara will go to the market. “I’ll wear my headband! It’ll be fine.” The Avatar’s protests are unyielding, and ultimately the group lets it pass. Sokka and Suki, meanwhile, will take a stab at cooking the remainder of what they brought from the campsite. 

Aang has had a good firebending practice—his breathing is disciplined, his flames aimed crisp and bright. When they spar, Zuko is actually kept on his toes. It’s outstanding how much Aang has improved in the last few weeks, even if there is still much to learn before he’s ready to face Ozai, and instead of resenting the Avatar’s abundant, obvious talent, Zuko feels a sense of pride. 

He finds that he enjoys teaching, feeling closer to Uncle as he strives for his patience and skill—and he generally likes being held in Aang’s esteem. Today, though, proves different.

When Zuko bows to Aang and turns toward the house, the Avatar stops him. 

“Sifu, wait! Can I ask your advice on something?”

“Sure,” Zuko says, “your fifth form seems much cleaner today.”

“Thanks! This is about something else…not, uh, bending related.”

“Oh, okay. What is it?” Zuko gestures to a shaded walkway, and they sit.

“You’ve had a girlfriend before, right?” Zuko already does not like where this is going.

“Yes, I have...before.”

“And you know this island!”

“Sure.”

“Great! So if you were bringing your girlfriend to explore the market, and you really wanted to impress her, what would you take her to see?” 

Zuko feels a trickle of nausea. “You want to take...?”

Aang is blushing now. “I’m just trying to get some ideas.”

“I don’t know if I’m the best one to give you this advice.” Zuko imagines what might inspire Katara’s happiness, all the beautiful things he would show her hoping to see her eyes sparkle. A more evolved, generous version of himself knows that she deserves that even if it’s not with him. “I kind of messed up a lot with my ex-girlfriend. I was trying to give her what I thought girls would like, but not really her specifically, you know? So I guess I would think about the girl you like and what you’ve seen that makes her smile. And try to share those things with her.”

“You’re very wise, Sifu.”

As Aang makes his way into the house, Zuko collapses back onto the stone. He hates being good.

* * *

Zuko has just finished drying out the bedding that Katara and Aang washed before heading to the market when he finds himself waylaid. 

“Zuko! My good man.” Sokka tugs Zuko from the hallway by his sleeve. “Exactly the Fire Prince I was looking for.” When they arrive at the kitchen, Suki is standing atop a stool, scouring cabinet tops for cookware. He supposes that helping them provides an activity that isn’t sitting on his bed and ruminating over Katara’s date, though after her earlier disclosure about Suki’s suspicions, he feels warier than ever around the Kyoshi Warrior.

“Your chefs for the evening could use a little guidance as to where in a finely appointed Fire Nation kitchen one might find...well...anything,” Sokka explains.

“You managed to locate an apron, I see.” Zuko begins rummaging around the back of a large cabinet. 

When he turns back around holding a wok and a large pot, Suki is smiling at Sokka and tugging on his apron’s gold neck straps, but her friendly question is aimed at Zuko. “Quite fetching, don’t you think?”

“Sorry, Sokka, you’re not exactly my type.”

“Big blue eyes, loves to cook isn’t your thing?” Zuko freezes for a moment at Suki’s words, but her amused expression looks conspiratorial rather than threatening.

“If Sokka loves to cook, then how come I’ve never seen him do it before? You’ll find knives and stuff in that drawer next to the stove, by the way.”

“And the stove,” Sokka says, “how do you, uh...” 

“Oh! Of course.” Zuko walks over to the oven and checks that there’s coal loaded in.

“Yeah, we got that far.” Suki peers over his shoulder. “But our sparkrocks weren’t doing much.”

“It’s designed for firebenders, right?” Sokka says as Zuko bends a steady flame into the bottom of the oven until the coal is burning evenly. 

“That’s right.” Zuko pats his hands against his pants. "Though I think there's a flamestarter somewhere around here, too." He’s not sure if he’s supposed to leave now that he’s covered the necessities, but then Suki places onions and a knife in front of him, lifting one eyebrow. 

“So you’re head chef?”

“You really have to ask?” Suki begins to measure out the rice they brought from the campsite. 

“Well I didn’t want to make some sort of gender-based assumption.”

“It’s easy.” Sokka throws an arm around his girlfriend. “Suki’s the head _everything._ ” She swats him away so she can keep working, but she’s grinning. 

As the three of them continue to prep dinner, Zuko observes the ease of Suki and Sokka’s teamwork, the way her gentle ribbing balances his silliness, the natural little touches. Sokka places a palm on the small of Suki’s back whenever he passes her; she likes to peek at his progress by tucking her chin into his shoulder, and they seem to be able to manage small logistical communications through eye contact alone. 

He is happy for Sokka, the first male friend his age he’s ever really had. In the last few weeks, Zuko has come to value and rely on the Water Tribesman’s geniality, adaptability and skill. Sokka deserves to have something good, especially after his first girlfriend apparently turned into the moon. But Zuko can’t help that being around the new couple’s contentment and warmth makes his heart ache a little, especially when Suki asks when Aang and Katara are expected to return from the market.

“You know how Aang is, always getting distracted by something shiny,” Sokka says.

“Well hopefully Katara can keep him on task, right, Zuko?”

He meets Suki’s eye steadily, and he knows he’s biting out his words, but whatever she thinks she knows, he wants her to understand how hard he’s trying to do the right thing. “It’s a nice town square. I hope they have a good time.”

“As long as they bring back more meat.” 

Not for the first time, he is immensely grateful for Sokka.

* * *

When Zuko finally hears Katara’s footsteps behind him, he has been dangling his legs over the edge of their balcony for nearly a half hour.

“You cut out of dinner pretty quickly.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t feel like hanging out tonight.” 

“Oh. Well, I can leave you be.”

“That’s not…that does not apply to _you_.”

“I’m honored,” she says as she sits down beside him, rolling her ankles in the ocean breeze. Evening light gilds the leaves all around them and sets the sea in golden motion as silence settles not quite comfortably between them. 

“I hear Aang took you on a date,” Zuko says eventually. 

Katara looks at him strangely. “He told you we were going on a date?”

“He asked me if I had a girlfriend, what I would do with her at the market. Then you went to the market, so…”

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

“Whatever.” Zuko tries to sound breezy, but it comes out dismissive. 

“Wow, okay. I guess you don’t care.”

“Um…” Zuko clears his throat. “I mean, it’s not any of my business, right?”

Katara makes a humming sound he doesn’t know how to interpret. “What did you tell him? When he asked your advice.”

“I told him that when I was here with my girlfriend I didn’t do a great job of things, so maybe I wasn’t the best person to give counsel.”

“You were here with Mai?”  
  
“A few months ago, yeah. Plus Azula and Tai Lee. The whole dream team.”

“And it...wasn’t good?”

Zuko sighs. “ _I_ wasn’t in a good place for anything. I was feeling so conflicted, and then our father sent us on some sort of mandatory vacation? I was angry and confused, not good company for anyone, probably.”

“Couldn’t you talk to her about it?”

“I tried, but that’s not really how our relationship worked. Mai was trapped there too, you know. Under Azula’s thumb. Sometimes I wondered if…” he has not aired this particular anxiety aloud before, but if not to Katara, waiting patiently beside him, then when? “I mean I know that Mai was only able to be with me because Azula allowed it. But she came to me so quickly when I returned, sometimes I wondered if Azula told her to date me to keep tabs on me and keep me in line.”

“That’s horrible, Zuko. Do you still think that?”

“No, not after she risked her life to save us.”

“Mai,” Katara says, then pauses, her brows knitting together. “Do you miss her?”

“I...” Zuko cannot figure out an answer that sounds right, because _how can I when you come this close to me_ is definitely not it _._ “I worry about what’s happened to her now. I should have tried to rescue her at the prison...I think about that a lot. But I don’t think that’s the same. You must understand, Katara. I know she’s just one of Azula’s cronies to you, but...Mai is a good person. She just deals with the whole Fire Nation court horror show by shutting down. All we could bond over was making fun of the things we didn’t like, us against everything. There’s something to be said for that, especially as angry as I was then. I just…now I think…I want to share more than that, you know?”

“The good stuff.”

“The stuff worth fighting for.”

“Well...to her, _you_ are obviously worth fighting for.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

“Maybe after…” Katara begins, then continues slowly, “after we win this war. Maybe you can see what it’s like, out of Azula’s shadow.” The suggestion makes his heart race and sink at once.

“Maybe,” he says, and he finds himself unable to leave it there. “But I’m not so sure that’s what I want.”

“Oh,” Katara says quietly. He can almost see her scrabbling for what to say next.

“So how was it tonight? With Aang.”

Katara deflates, leaning back on her elbows. “We went to run an _errand_ …” She sighs. “He just kept…showing off? I guess that’s not really unusual for him.” If she’s waiting or Zuko to pile on, she’ll be disappointed. He has resolved to say nothing against the Avatar’s attempts at wooing. It is the honorable thing. “He just kept talking about all the things he’s seen and tried, offering to buy them for me. But what I really wanted was to get what we needed and get out of there, back here, where he’s safe. Like if he really wanted to make me happy he would have helped me haggle for more rice or lychee nuts.”

“How romantic.”  
  
“But I didn’t _want_ romance...he didn’t even say he thought it was a date. Was I just supposed to know?”

“Katara, you must know how he feels about you.”

“We’re in the middle of a war!”

“I know, I know, but…” 

“But what?” 

Zuko feels like he just walked into a platypus bear trap. “I mean...um. If you like someone, sometimes it’s hard not to think about it.”

"You don’t need to tell me what it’s like to like someone. I’m not some clueless little girl.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“And I didn’t say that I don’t like Aang.”

“Okay.” Calming his voice is a feat that astounds his inner-Iroh, but this only seems to further provoke her.

“And you’re right. It’s not your business!”

“Then let’s not talk about it.” It is getting harder to keep his voice even.

“Fine! Let’s _not_.”

Katara stands abruptly, and he tries not to let his disappointment show—all he had wanted was for her to sit with him and enjoy the sunset. But instead of returning to her room, she starts pacing. And what had he done to set her off, anyway? He’d only given her a chance to talk and tried to empathize with both her and Aang like the friend he was figuring out how to be. What had she wanted from him? Congratulations on being one half of the most virtuous couple to ever walk the earth? His hat thrown into the ring? _In your dreams, Zuzu._

“After the war, I’m going to be with Aang,” she says eventually, voice determined. It’s an ice dagger to his chest. 

He’d like to spit, “why are you telling _me_ this?” back at her, but she sounds like she’s speaking to herself as much as she is telling him, so he simply says, “Okay.” And why wouldn’t she want to be with the Avatar, her peer in kindness and talent? When Zuko had been their opponent, he had always assumed they were linked that way. Only getting to know them—her—had complicated this picture, allowing his confused, stupid tendrils of hope.

“I want to help people. When we win—I want to help Aang rebuild the world.”

“That’s a very noble plan, Katara,” Zuko speaks slowly, thinking over her words. He stands up and turns to where she’s still pacing. He knows he’s pushing it, but _Agni_ , what if there’s never another chance? “I’m just missing the part where you’re in love with him.”

Katara gapes, instantly outraged. Zuko hadn’t missed her fury this past week, but it crackles with different energy this time. He knows her much better now, and she _knows_ it. “Of course I love Aang,” Katara nearly hisses at him; this only inflames him further. 

“Come on, Katara. You said you’re a big girl. You’re really going to pretend you don’t know the difference?” 

“What on earth do you know about my feelings or my destiny?”

“Your _destiny?”_ He steps closer and waits until she meets his gaze; when she does, her blue eyes are blazing. 

“You think you're the only one who cares about their destiny, Zuko? I know it was hard for you growing up, that you were daddy’s little _failure_.” He feels his eyes widen. Oh, he has certainly armed her with enough information to inflict damage. She inches forward. “But at least everyone expected you to be something, someone that mattered to the _world_ , enough to be disappointed. Not me. I was just a little helpless girl, a lonely little bender who could barely control a handful of water—my mother died for that, so shouldn't it mean something?"

“Katara—"

"I'm not done! Your bending mattered to _everyone._ Mine didn't mean anything to anybody but me. Not my Gran Gran, who was too scared of me getting hurt. Not even Sokka. And the tribe? It's not quite as bad as the North, but the basics are the same: women should stay in the village, raise kids, cook, wash, mend, repeat. Aang _gave_ me a destiny. I didn't have one before him. You couldn’t possibly know what that’s like, _Prince Zuko._ ”

“Are you kidding me? I thought _MY FATHER_ was the arbiter of my destiny. _You_ helped me figure out I was wrong!” 

“How can you possibly equate Aang and your father?”

Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose. “Of course I don’t! I’m just saying that nobody else can determine your destiny. Only you.”

“And _I’m_ just saying that mine depends on Aang.”

"You really believe that.”

"I know it." She’s standing so close he can feel her breath on his face, a mirror of when she confronted him at the Western Air Temple. But then, this is not the same at all, Zuko thinks—there’s so much more to lose or, perhaps, to gain.

"Well, let me tell you something I know." 

Katara narrows her eyes, but gestures for him to proceed with a flick of her wrist. Now it’s his turn to pace.

“Aside from being one of the most impressive benders I’ve ever met, you are one of the most strong-willed, capable, powerful people I’ve ever _seen_ , Katara. I cannot conceive of a world where you stayed sequestered in your village, where you didn’t force your way out, find a way to make the most of your power. Where you don’t help fix the world. No way.” He pauses to catch his breath. “You’re _far_ too stubborn, too driven...too good.”

When he lets himself face her fully, the fury has drained out of her expression, but the gaze she pins on him is no less intense. Her words, when they finally come, are a slow, quiet echo. “You really believe that.”

Zuko feels dizzy and exposed, but he refuses to look away from her. “I know it.”

He’s not sure how long they stand there, staring at each other, both panting slightly. The urge to reach for her nearly overpowers him, but the moment is so fragile that he fears any motion will shatter it. She’s the one who breaks eye contact, stepping to the balcony’s edge. She leans her arms against the railings, and he follows her, assuming a similar position a few feet away. The sunset sky is at its most vivid; at least she’ll get a chance to enjoy it.

“Thank you, Zuko,” she finally says. “I think…I think I needed to hear that.” Katara leans a little over the railing and begins to bend, lifting a rotating sphere of seawater from the beach. “I was harsh with you. I’m sorry.”

Zuko dismisses this with a wave of his hand. “I was pushing you. I knew that. I’m sorry about...butting in.” He sighs. “You’re right it’s not my business. I just...you’re going to change the world no matter what, Katara. You already have. If you want to be with Aang, or anyone, I hope it’s because it makes you happy. You deserve that.”

Katara just makes a small affirmative noise at this, but a new warmth settles in—perhaps the most complete peace that has ever existed between them. She continues bending the shimmering ball of water slowly upward, until it spins above their heads, reflected sky and sea shifting through it like fish scales. 

“You know,” she says, “I never expected the Fire Nation to be so beautiful.” The sunset light reflects gloriously on her skin. “I’ve never seen a sky this orange.” Her expressive eyes are alight with wonder, and the thought rises to his mind unbidden: how beautiful she is when she loves the world. 


	4. Liminal Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting my notes at the end for this one, since I'm including some process thoughts that probably shouldn't guide your reading. I hope you enjoy!

In the past year, Katara has discovered many ways humans forge homes on earth—amid swamp so dense vines eclipse sky, atop sheer mountain cliffs shrouded by clouds, in palaces nestled within dormant volcanoes. She has lived like royalty in the Upper Ring of the Earth Kingdom’s largest city, slept in tents and caves, and spent weeks-worth of hours on the back of an airborne bison. But not since leaving the South Pole has she felt as at home as she does on Ember Island.

On their wide, private beach, the water is temperate and clear, a dream to bask in on hot, sunny days, and a pleasure to bend on crisp, dry nights. The house itself is surprisingly inviting and airy despite its overabundance of red decor. 

In the two weeks they’ve been on the island, the house’s amenities have freed up her time and subtly shifted group dynamics. Its size has afforded new and appealing privacy; she hasn’t even seen where Suki, Sokka or Toph are sleeping, and she can’t spend time cleaning messes she can’t see. The coolerin the kitchen has allowed them to store more food, cutting down time spent preparing meals. 

The kitchen equipment—even a decade old by Fire Nation standards—is more advanced than anything on the entire South Pole, drawing Sokka’s interest. Now when she cooks, Katara often enjoys her brother’s company. And though a year ago she never would have believed it possible, she discovers how much she’s missed spending time, just the two of them — it’s given her a real chance to appreciate his growth, the purposefulness that has replaced the posturing (well, most of it).

With her extra free hours, she has begun training in hand-to-hand combat with Suki, and she Toph and Aang have started working on a technique that builds on the earthbender’s new bending style, using air and waterbending to rust Toph’s warped metal. She sometimes wishes Zuko had recommended this place sooner, when the comet was not so near, though she suspects her anger would have prevented her from appreciating it.

Katara has not forgotten that this house was built to be enjoyed by the monsters who ravaged her world. Rather, there is a certain pleasure in making it their own and reclaiming it for Zuko. She has never seen him so comfortable in his own skin, and she wonders if—despite the complicated jumble of memories that surface here, despite the fact that they’re now just a month away from Sozin’s Comet—he has found a way to connect to an earlier, less troubled version of himself. And perhaps, if she is allowed a moment of self-importance, she is helping.

While Katara can often sense the grim confrontation creeping up on them, a cold fear that trickles in at odd moments, the terror most often hits at night. And when it does, she needs only throw her blanket over her shoulders, slip onto her balcony and tap on Zuko’s door, and then he is at her side. She couldn’t bring her anxieties to Aang, she rationalizes. He is already more keyed up and distractible than usual. And who could blame him? 

On a particularly hot day after lunch, while Toph and Aang practice earthbending in the courtyard, Sokka and Suki sun themselves on the beach, and Zuko naps in his bedroom—the firebender’s adaptive new afternoon habit—Katara decides to explore the bookcases in her bedroom. 

She finds volumes of Fire Nation mythology and pulls out a slim illuminated folio about the Painted Lady to read later. There are scrolls on military strategy, dusty histories of all four nations, and, to her surprise, tomes of Air Nomad philosophy. Katara promptly brings these to Aang’s room with a note. When she returns, she notices that the newly empty shelf extends deeper into the wall; she has revealed a collection of small, leather-bound books, labeled only with dates. 

Curious, Katara selects the most recent text. She reads less than a page before her heart starts to race. She flips ahead, just enough to confirm her suspicions, then snaps the journal closed. She desperately wants to read on, but no—she cannot hold this back from Zuko.

Grabbing the key he gave her, she hurries onto the balcony and silently unlocks his door. She climbs onto the edge of his bed. It is impossibly soft, and he is curled on his side in his rumpled day clothes. She has to fight the impulse to push his hair back off his sleeping face. Instead she gently shakes his warm shoulder. His eyes, when they blink open, are soft and confused, roving all over her as he wakes. Her cheeks heat. “Katara?” 

“I’m sorry to wake you, but it’s important.”

He’s alert and upright in an instant. “What is it? Are we under attack?”

“Spirits, no, nothing like that, Zuko. Everyone’s fine, but I need to show you something.” 

He follows her to her room, rubbing a hand through his hair. “I was exploring the bookshelves, and I found something… Maybe you’ve seen these, but they seemed pretty hidden.” She places the volume she’d been reading in his hands. He examines its exterior and looks up at her quizzically. “I think these are your cousin’s journals.”

Zuko’s eyes widen, and he immediately begins leafing through pages. “This is definitely Lu Ten’s penmanship.” He turns the book over in his hands, running his thumb repeatedly over the date on the spine, and she realizes that his hand is shaking. She places a palm on each of his arms, and leads him to the side of her bed, ushering him to sit. She takes a seat beside him and waits. 

“Katara...this date?” He says eventually, tapping the journal’s spine again. “That’s two years before he was killed...I...” He swallows. “How many of these are there?”

“Five,” she says, bringing them over from the shelf with care. He examines every one, flipping through to assess their contents. She can see that each is packed with over a hundred hand-written pages.

“I don’t…” Zuko shuts his eyes tightly. “I don’t think anyone has ever seen these.” He points at the most recent journal. “That summer he had just graduated from the military academy. After that, Lu Ten went to join Uncle at the front…my sister and I came back here with our mother the next summer, but we always stayed in our wing. And I don’t think anyone’s been back other than me since Grandfather died. Uncle... What Uncle would do to see…”

“And he will.” She rubs wide, slow circles on Zuko’s back, and she can feel his muscles relax slightly into the motion. 

“They were hidden?”

She nods. “Behind some old Air Nomad books I brought to Aang. I didn’t expect to find those here.”

“Lu Ten was a scholar as well as a soldier,” Zuko explains. “While my grandfather’s court definitely censored what books were taught and sold to the populace, it wasn’t until my father that the palace’s libraries were purged of banned texts. Lu Ten was always reading about other cultures, especially their philosophical or political treatises. I’m sure he thought that was a very clever hiding place. Who would bother? None of the rest of us, certainly, and Uncle would have already read them.”

“You really looked up to your cousin.”

“Oh, definitely. He was ten years older than me and everything I aspired to be. Brilliant, disciplined, a powerful bender, but also broad-minded and kind. Much like Uncle.” Zuko is almost smiling, then his expression falters. “Katara?”

“Yes?” 

“Do you think it’s wrong to read them?” 

“I think that only you can decide that, but…”

“But?"

“Well, your family is such a source of pain for you. And you loved your cousin. It might be a good thing, as we get ready for what’s coming…” She knows that she need not say more about the inevitable, imminent showdown with his father and sister. “It might be good if there’s a way for you to connect with parts of your family legacy that you don’t hate so much.”

After a moment, he nods. “I also think, well, if we win—”

“When we win!” Katara cuts in fiercely. 

“When we win. If we find Uncle, he’ll take the throne, right? And if I make it—” 

“Zuko!” She lands a hard punch on his arm and turns her most furious glare on him.

“Okay, okay, Toph. Point made, but someone needs to be a realist around here. It’s just...Uncle spent years trying to teach me how not to be a vengeful ball of pain, but he spent Lu Ten’s whole life teaching him how to be a man and a leader. I think...if I can, I want to know what Lu Ten knew. Whatever chance I have of that.”  
  
“If you’re looking for my blessing or something, Zuko...I mean, you have it. I just want what’s best for you,” she says in a low, solemn voice. “And if you’re comfortable with it, I’ll help.” His expression twists at this. 

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.” 

The intensity of her disappointment at this polite refusal catches Katara off guard, but she tries not to let it show. She piles the journals into his arms, and walks him to the balcony door.  
  
“Also, Katara?” He says from his own doorway.

“Yes?”

“Do you mind...not mentioning this to the others? Not just yet.”

“Of course,” she says, feeling slightly less dismissed. “Whatever you need.”

* * *

Katara decides to try her hand at dumplings for dinner. They’re Zuko’s favorite, but primarily she picks them because they require full concentration and benefit from teamwork: a perfect distraction. Sokka, who always wears a ridiculous gold-trimmed apron when he joins her in the kitchen, adores the meat grinder as much as she expected he would. Less predictably, he loves measuring out the mixture of meat, egg, scallions, and spices into perfect little portions and pinching the dough she prepared into even, delicate purses.

“Can you imagine having sweet digs like this and only spending summers here?” He asks as they work side by side. 

“The tribe used to have a summer settlement, you know. The elder mothers talked about it.”

“Sure, but that was like, about gathering food stores for winter.”

“Also for pleasure and for spiritual rites, too, I think. Visiting the hair grass fields on the peninsula, and the eastern mountains are supposed to be really beautiful at snowmelt.” 

“Okay, but that’s super different from a decked out beach mansion like this, all to yourself, just for...relaxing?” 

Katara hums assent. “It sure is nice, though, isn’t it?”

“Oh yeah, sis, I’m not saying I couldn’t get used to this,” Sokka says, pinching dough between his finger and thumb. “Sometimes I just think that traveling like this, all with one big Save-The-World-From-Fiery-Destruction shaped goal, we forget how totally different our _real_ lives are. I mean, can you picture any of them making it through a South Pole winter without losing their minds?”

She imagines her friends in furs, arrayed around the fire, telling stories. To her it seems cozy and safe, but the image frays as she lingers on it: the earthbender’s misery cut off from stone-bound sight, the firebender weakened by lack of sun, the Avatar rattling and buzzing, restless to go go go, the Kyoshi Warrior separated from the work that grants her purpose, and Katara suddenly understands. 

“Sokka, you know the world after...it’s not going to be the same, right? Our lives don’t have to be the same.”

“But we still have obligations to our tribe. Or...at least I do, I can’t leave everything to Dad alone—”

“We’ll both be there, Sokka,” she assures him, the first time she’s spoken this certainty aloud, but it feels correct. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Sokka just nods at this, but his look of relief makes her wish she wasn’t covered in flour so she could hug him. “I know I should be praying to Tui and La that we all just make it through this alive,” he says, “but I can’t help but wonder…now that I know what this is like...” He is not talking about the beach house anymore, and they both know it. She has suspected for weeks that Sokka’s feelings for Suki run deeper than he has said aloud. She reaches across to squeeze his hand, but she doesn’t know what to say to comfort him.

Because when she pictures Sokka’s now-battered map of the world, she feels the same tug in her chest. She can see each of her friends, marked where they’ll need to be to build a peaceful world. Zuko in Caldera, Suki in Kyoshi, Toph somewhere in the Earth Kingdom, Aang in constant flight. She has found a family—they are hers forever; this she believes. But now she has let herself make a home with them on someone else’s golden shore. Win or lose, it cannot last.

* * *

When Zuko fails to turn up at dinner, she makes excuses for him, prepares an extra plate, and brings it to his room. At her soft knock, he cracks the door just wide enough to take the meal with a brief but earnest thank you. The door is closed in her face before she can even read his expression. 

Katara can’t help her agitation. She sits on the edge of her bed, trying to imagine the whole yawning night without Zuko’s company. She had hoped by the time she returned with his meal, he would allow her into his room and let her see some of what he had learned. But maybe there are places Zuko isn’t ready to go with her, after all.

And isn’t this a breach of...something? They’re supposed to be able to ask each other anything, as they’ve done every night since their return to the group. Sometimes they chat for less than an hour; sometimes they speak until constellations have crossed half the sky. 

But then, she is always the one who seeks him out—first sneaking into his tent at their campsite, now summoning him to the balcony. Tonight he has made it clear he wants privacy, which leaves her without agency. Has she been forcing their closeness on him the entire time?

 _Enough, Katara._ Sitting on her bed and spiralling benefits no one. 

She had left the group sprawled out across the living room, but when she returns, only Aang remains. It seems he has been waiting for her, and when he flashes his radiant smile, it does cheer her. She takes the seat beside him. “Is Zuko alright?”

“Oh, yeah. He just had a nasty headache. Dehydration, maybe.”

“That was really nice of you to bring him dinner.” 

She shrugs. “I would have done it for any of you.” In the past, that would have been true, but she could have easily left Zuko’s meal in the cooler for him; it’s where all the leftovers go, so he would have known just where to find it when he finally decided he was hungry.

“Well, I think it’s amazing how far you’ve come with him.” 

“What?”

“I mean, I wasn’t sure you’d ever forgive him, and now it seems like you’re actually friends. I know that must have taken a lot for you.” 

“Thanks, Aang,” she says, uncomfortable with this praise. From anyone else, this would be prying—in fact, every other member of the gang has asked after her apparent about-face on the matter of the Fire Prince. But no—Aang is simply invested in her growth, committed, as ever, to seeing the best in her. “Do you want to go down to the beach?”

Of course he does; they race each other into yet another spectacular Ember Island sunset, shedding their outer layers and wading into the delightfully warm ocean. They surf on ice boards, taking turns controlling the waves. They form air-bubbles around their heads and look for canary fish. They bend ice shapes and watch the tide carry them to shore.

It should be said that Katara has not been avoiding the Avatar since their non-date. Every single day she finds time just for them, usually splashing like this on the beach after bending practice or letting him help with chores. But lately embracing his playfulness requires effort in a way it never has before, a reality which saddens her. Aang has always unlocked an ease in Katara, a way of experiencing the world as a series of adventures and pleasures. It isn’t his fault that this way of coping feels increasingly at odds with how she comforts herself about the dire task before them. 

Katara flops onto her back, letting her hair swirl around her in the tide. “I’ll never get tired of the sky here,” she tells Aang. An image flashes of their first night on the island, a private balcony, heated words about love and destiny with someone else. Has Zuko eaten the meal she brought him? Is he still reading? It isn’t until Aang paddles over to where she is that she realizes the intimacy of the moment—the two of them alone under a technicolor sky, and she wonders what it would take to live fully inside it.

“The Fire Nation does have the best sunsets,” Aang says. “They used to be even brighter, too! Kuzon said it had something to do with the volcanos. There’s almost always at least one active volcano somewhere in the archipelago, and even from hundreds of miles away, the particles they spew into the atmosphere can change how the light scatters when the sun goes down.”

“That’s really cool, Aang,” she says, and she means it; she always does. But the feeling from the market is back, the quiet surge of resentment when he kept looking for the things he’d loved 100 years ago. Won’t the world Aang left behind always be better than the one they must fix? And will whatever they share always be obscured by what once was, a phantom lens he can’t help sliding across her gaze? She knows she shouldn’t blame him for this—he wants to share himself with her, and that is beautiful.

But what if she doesn’t want to live that way? Because this world, near-wrecked as it may be, holds all the joy, beauty and love she will ever know. 

* * *

By the time she returns to her room, Katara’s feelings are all jumbled, and she wants to talk them out, but she can’t bring herself to rap against Zuko’s balcony door. Not if she is unwanted.

Still, he should know she is there if he is interested in speaking, she decides. So she wraps herself in her blanket and seats herself by the railings. With each hour that slips by, the hope in her stomach sours; staying put feels an increasingly silly, desperate thing to do—she can feel exhaustion creeping in, but she cannot bring herself to move.

It’s petty and immature to feel abandoned over one night spent apart. Was she jealous of a pile of books? She could _see_ how much finding Lu Ten’s journals impacted Zuko. It had been her choice to leave them entirely in his hands, and it had been the right one. 

But the truth is that she looks forward to their nighttime conversations all day long—she files away all the good, bad and strange thoughts and happenings of the day for those liminal hours when she can be and be seen as wholly herself, where she can discover him in a way no one has. The space between them is slowly growing into a safe, private world woven with disclosed fears, hopes and memories, something she needs now more than ever. But how many nights do they really have left? And what if somehow the spell is broken? 

She lays herself flat against the balcony floor. The night is lovely and clear, and she busies herself trying to guess at constellations. Zuko has pointed some of them out to her, but they are almost entirely unfamiliar; this time of year, the South Pole experiences near-endless sun. Once more, the moon is waxing, a thumbnail sliver over the horizon, a snaking glimmer on the sea. Such darkness, she thinks muzzily, pairs strangely with mild air.

* * *

Katara wakes warm and comfortable, tucked to her neck in plush blankets. Rustling onto her side, she presses her cheek into a cool pillow. Scent envelopes her: a sweet, smoky, familiar musk. She knows what she’s doing when she presses her nose closer and breathes in, but she can’t help herself. Squinting in low candlelight, she finds Zuko hunched over his desk. 

When Katara sits up, she rustles the bedding louder than necessary. He turns immediately, looking exhausted and nervous. “Hi,” he says softly.

“What time is it?”

“A couple hours after midnight, I think.” 

“I’m in your bed.” 

“I...sorry, um. You had fallen asleep out there, and it looked uncomfortable. I don’t have the key to your door, so—” His evident embarrassment returns some of her normal confidence.

“So you carried me to your bed.”

“Well, I—”

“My room was unlocked, you know.”

“I didn’t, actually,” he pauses. “I also…I wanted to be here when you woke up, so I could apologize.”

“Apologize?” She had sat outside for hours feeling like a fool, so she decides to make him say it.

“I mean, you were waiting for me, and—“

“Was I?”

“I thought… Well, I mean, we always…” he stumbles until he catches her sly smile. “I was going to come to see you, Katara. I just lost track of time.”

“It’s okay. I’m just giving you a hard time.” She runs her palm along the edge of his bed, then pats it, beckoning for him to join her. He makes his way over cautiously and sits, turning to face her fully. She offers him a smile. “I knew you needed the night to yourself. You as much as told me so. I was being selfish.”

“By wanting to see me?”

It’s her turn to feel embarrassed. She rolls her eyes before affirming in a quiet voice, “I like our nights.” 

“So do I.” His smile makes the admission worthwhile. “And I like the idea of you being selfish with me.” This disclosure makes warmth coil in her stomach, and she turns her attention to the stretch of blanket she’s rolling between her forefinger and thumb.

“How are you? Have you been reading since I left you?” By her calculation, twelve hours have passed since she first brought him the diaries.

He nods. “I’ve made way through most of them…I’m…” Zuko rubs a hand over his eyes and lets out a long breath. “It’s a lot.”

“Am I allowed to ask about it?” 

“You can...You always can ask, I’m just not sure where to begin.” 

“That’s okay,” she says, and tries not to let her disappointment show when the silence lingers. 

“I’ll try, though.” 

She scoots slightly closer and tucks her chin into her palm attentively.

“Remember the giant library you told me about? The one Zhao found before you guys, in the Si Wong Desert?”

“Of course.”

He nods. “So...okay. I’m going to channel Uncle here for a minute, and that usually doesn’t go so well. But imagine there is a part of the library you’ve never seen before, and it contains a replica of the world you come from, that you thought was totally lost. Okay?”

“Okay…”

“And you’re stumbling through the desert, and you’re not even trying to find the library, because, as I mentioned, you didn’t even know that it had this thing you were interested in. Are you with me?” 

She nods. “I’m with you.”

“Okay, good, so you’re making your way through the desert, and it’s hard because, well, it’s the desert, but you feel like you’re finally on the right path—which is great because it had taken a _really_ long time to get there—and then you see a window, poking up through the sand. Or really, your friend sees a window poking up through the sand, and she says, ‘hey you should probably look through this window,’ so you do.”

“She sounds smart, this friend.” 

“She _is._ And she’s right, too—this might be the most interesting window on earth. It gives you a chance to take in this vision of the world you came from, that you thought was lost to you forever, from an angle you’ve never had access to.”

“Sounds really fascinating.”

“Yes, it is. But it’s still...just a window. Like, you can look and look, you can examine every little thing that’s inside, but the library is still buried. You can never get back to the world you see in that room. Or if you did, you’d end up trapped forever. And...what you see reminds you that that world was never really a good place anyway, even if it’s got this one window. And you still need to get out of the desert. Like, really soon, and...and—”

“And you’re overwhelmed.”

“Completely.”

“You do know that I’m here to help, however I can."

He stiffens at this. “I do. I...yes.”

She’s not sure it’s fair, what she wants to ask, but she can feel him closing himself off. “Why don’t you want me to read them, Zuko?”

He sighs. “It’s not that I don’t want you to. I just...I wanted to know what’s in there first. And now that I’ve read most of them, I’m glad.” 

“Why?”

“The journals, they’re just from the summers on the island. A lot of the time, we were here too. I know I’ve talked about how everything went bad for our family when Father took the throne, and that’s true. But...it wasn’t great before then either, it’s just that my mother was here, and I didn’t know better.”

“How could you? You were a kid.”

“Yes, and obviously I don’t need to tell you that my father is a bad man. But…as a father… We haven’t talked about this. I’ve never talked about this. And maybe I can, with you, if you want—”

“Of course I—” She catches him smiling faintly at her interruption. “Sorry, continue.”

“Well...Lu Ten saw more than I knew. And not just about me...there’s political stuff and...yeah, a lot. But I guess...I don’t want you to learn about my life that way, not before I get the chance to know what you’d be reading. Maybe that’s selfish.”

“No, Zuko, I don’t think so.” 

“It’s not just that.”

“Okay,” Katara keeps her voice steady and tries not to fidget as he collects his thoughts.

“When you first showed me the journals this afternoon...they kind of sparked, well, this hope, I guess. I mean Lu Ten was the total embodiment of Fire Nation honor and pride, but he was also a really good person. And I think...well, I hoped that maybe reading these would show me some way to reconcile what I dreamed about as a kid with reality.”

“And did it?”

“Absolutely not.” Zuko lets out a short, caustic laugh. “And it’s really _weird_ to take in because Lu Ten always had this perfect, dutiful exterior, but I guess underneath that he was struggling with a lot of the same realizations I’ve had to.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Like I wish I could talk to him.”

“I wish you could, too.” Katara pulls the covers off her legs, and scoots to sit next to him. “But I’m really glad you’re talking to me.”

Zuko closes his eyes and nods faintly. “I do think…” he says slowly, “if you wanted to read the first one, that would be okay. It’s from when Lu Ten was fourteen. I’d just turned four. There’s...stuff, but...” He shrugs.

“If you’re okay with it, then yes, I’d like to.” She says, and Zuko stands, walking to his desk, and retrieves the journal for her. In the candlelight, the skin under his good eye looks puffy and gray. 

“Zuko?”

“Yes?”

“You are going to get some sleep, aren’t you?”

Zuko cards a hand through his hair, “I probably should...”

“I’ll let you get to that, then.” 

“Katara?” She has a brief, visceral fantasy that he will ask her to stay, that she will get to lay down in this plush bed beside him, tuck the covers around them both, press her cheek against his bare chest and loop her leg over his. The image sparks warmth, a lingering heat. The sensation is not exactly new—these involuntary Zuko-centric leaps of imagination are happening more and more lately—but now is not the time. She hopes nothing shows on her face.

“Yes?” She replies.

“I think I may try to get more sleep in tomorrow and finish reading, can you…”

“Make excuses for you? I already told them you weren’t feeling well, so...”

“I could do Aang’s firebending lesson in the afternoon.”

“I think that would be fine."

“Thank you, Katara.” His voice is a low, sincere rasp. “Thank you for everything.” And the impulse is too strong. She arches up to kiss his cheek, only realizing exactly what she’s done when her lips meet scarred, uneven skin. Zuko inhales sharply, and she jolts back. Should she apologize?

But then he closes a hand around her wrist and pulls her to his chest. His arms encircle her waist and slide gently up her back, tucking her tightly into him. She wraps her arms around his neck, presses her cheek against his collarbone, and tries to catch her breath. 

This is more physical affection than she has ever seen Zuko initiate, and she is overcome by tenderness, inundated by details: the strength of his arms around her, the silkiness of his hair under her fingers, the firm warmth of his chest against hers, the quick, steady drum of his heart, the way their bodies seem to simply _fit_. 

These are not friendly feelings—Katara knows this—and right now Zuko needs a friend. But she cannot bring herself to feel guilt, not when being close to him feels this good. So she lets herself savor it, just a few moments more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up until now, this story has mostly delved into what I hoped unfolded behind the scenes of the show. This chapter introduces elements that I don't think are out of step with that, but are more oriented toward the non-canon future this story is building. I promise there will be glimpses inside these journals (I hope that is something you're interested in, too), but I think, just like Katara, we needed to let Zuko have a first crack.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, for your <3s and comments. They're so encouraging, and I hope you'll continue on this journey.


	5. Legacy vs. Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More notes at the end of the chapter, but CW for mentions of abuse.

When he started reading his cousin’s journals, Zuko hoped Lu Ten had answers.

Instead, Lu Ten had questions. Uncountable questions, unraveling with increasing frequency and urgency across hundreds of pages, years of growth, discovery and disillusionment. 

> _…Aunt Ursa says Mother was as beautiful as the Dragon Empress. Why doesn’t Father keep her portrait? Will I never know her face?…_
> 
> _…Why did Grandfather have to ban the Water Parables? They’re hilarious…_
> 
> _…Is it terrible that what I love most about summers on Ember Island is that no one knows who I am? My official portrait has not been distributed in the last two years, and I have grown nearly half a foot this past winter. If I wear plainclothes, I can go to the public beach or the market and no one knows me, something Father encourages.  
> _ _Today some kids invited me to play kuai ball, and when my serve failed to clear the net, they called me shortshot! When we won, we took turns hoisting one another in the air. I don’t remember the last time I felt such…a part of something. No tutors to correct every little mistake, no social climbing lackeys to flatter me when I fail. Is this what life is like when you’re not part of the royal family? When I asked this to Father, he looked terribly sad…_
> 
> _…Zuko will be six next year and still no signs of bending, though he is clever and dedicated. We built an entire replica of the royal palace out of sand and shells, and he knew where to place every column. He seems cheerful and generally healthy, but on his shoulders and chest, I can see lingering signs of sun poisoning. Does Aunt Ursa know he’s still being put in Agni’s Embrace? I am worried what Uncle Ozai will do when the truth about his bending can no longer be hidden. I asked Father if he would intervene, but he’s gone so much of the year. Would Aunt let me help?…_
> 
> _…The Honor Quarto will be updated and distributed upon my investiture at the Military Academy this fall. Great-grandfather’s Honor was Vision. Grandfather’s Honor is Order. Father’s Honor is Persistence. What will mine be?…_

Zuko had just begun the last journal when he finally checked the burn mark on his candle, startling at the hour. The memory of Katara’s sleeping form on the balcony floor sends another wave of affection through him, somehow more powerful in his sleep-deprived state. 

She had brought these precious books to him with immediacy and seriousness. He knew her curiosity must have been overwhelming—Katara’s boundless drive to _know_ , especially to learn about people, is a trait he has come to adore. _Adore_. Yes. Lips barely felt on his ruined cheek. Her warm, steady presence in his arms, her breath on his neck. 

_Focus, dum-dum._

For the majority of his adolescence—lived in banishment and shame—Zuko's singularity of purpose had been the defining characteristic of his conscious life. Only now that he has abandoned the wild meergoose chase for the Avatar and his father’s approval can he see his monomania for what it was: a shattered identity scrabbling for unity in the wake of devastating rejection and disfigurement. 

He is much happier now, of course. He can look in mirrors without the urge to melt them. He can appreciate moments of leisure—the ocean breeze on his skin after bending practice, laughter around the fire with friends. He has _friends_ , friends he can enjoy and trust. He can even hold a beautiful girl in his arms and surrender to the comfort she offers. 

_You are healing, my nephew._ He knows this to be true. But sometimes he wishes he could at least resume his former _focus_ . Because he is here to train the Avatar. And he is here to train the Avatar because his father _must be stopped_ —imminently. Like, within the month. But now sleep has eluded him, the sun is high overhead, and his thoughts have been bouncing blearily for _hours_ between Lu Ten’s words and the image of Katara’s intelligent blue eyes flitting across pages as she reads them. 

He knows he’s toeing a delicate line with the waterbender. He no longer doubts the sincerity of her friendship, nor fears that she will change her mind and abandon him. He never heretofore imagined that he could feel this close to _anyone_ , nor that opening up the way he has could make him feel somehow safer, stronger and more whole. And allowing Katara to read Lu Ten’s journal is his most vulnerable act yet.

But he also _wants_ her. Beyond the hungry dreams and fantasies, he wishes he could _be with her_. Like, hand-holding and picnics and waking up at her side and all the little tender moments Suki and Sokka display with such ease. If he were a normal teenager and not the Avatar’s firebending instructor trying to help save the world from his evil father, he would at least try to…

To what? Why does it matter? He is _not_ a normal teenager. _We’re in the middle of a war!_ Her own words—aimed against the Avatar’s advances—are correct. 

Still, he badly wants to be the sort of man Katara _could_ desire, not a shattered mess she needs to piece together, nor a damaged child she needs to mother—the child she will meet in Lu Ten’s journal. _To maintain confidence in her esteem is an act of unmitigated trust, Nephew, something to be proud of._

_Yeah,_ he thinks in the general direction of his inner-Iroh, _and it sucks_.

In less than an hour, he must meet Aang for training. There’s no point in continuing to attempt rest that will only be interrupted immediately. He looks back to the last journal sitting open on his desk, where he left it in the early hours of the morning. 

This text, written when Lu Ten was his own age, had been the one that most interested Zuko when Katara brought the collection to him. Now it is the one he fears the most. Zuko had been ready—whatever ready means—to revisit his Grandfather’s harshness, his father’s malice, his mother’s veiled suffering, his sister’s escalating cruelty, his own myriad failures. He hadn’t considered what he might read about Uncle.

> _…There is a new bookshop in town!_ _No real histories, not that I expected to find them, but they sell the myths and tales, hand illuminations by a young artist who apparently lives on the island. It looks like she uses bending to create her images. I asked Aunt if she knew that firebending could be used so finely, for art or penmanship. She looked stricken and told me not to mention it to anyone, but I don’t know why…_
> 
> _…What if it is too late for Azula? She is barely six, but today I watched her murder a turtlecrab by encircling it in flame so long that the poor creature panicked and scurried, dying flayed…_
> 
> _…The Air Nomads were planning world conquest, coordinated horrors to fall from a cloudy night sky, so we are taught. I found volumes of the Wind Sutra in Father’s study when we were back at the palace. Much of it is hard to understand, but one refrain has stayed with me: In a single wingbeat, the aggression of one stirs the wind that annihilates all.  
> _ _How can such teachings be reconciled with their violent plans?…_
> 
> _…Will I ever understand Father? Gentle as a koala sheep; deadly as a dragon. Wiser than the eldest Fire Sage; dense as granite. I asked him about what I saw in Hu Xin on my training exercise, and he repeated the national lines: all lives are guided surest by the hand that masters the light of flame. The Earth Kingdom is corrupt and fractured, the citizens taxed with no benefit.  
> _ _How, I asked, is this worse than our men who torch all the crops they can’t carry?  
> _ _So lead them well, my son, he said.  
> _ _What I could not ask: Do you mean for me to lead them as you never have, or do your men lie?…_

* * *

When the Avatar out-bends Zuko three spars in a row, he expects to find Katara’s concerned eyes on him—she usually watches their lessons. But she is nowhere in sight when he and Aang exchange bows, and she is not the one who confronts him. 

“Alright, Sparky. What gives?” Toph plants herself beside him on the courtyard fountain.

“What are you talking about?”

“Sugar Queen was lying last night when she said you weren’t feeling well, but your bending sure seems sickly.”

It’s tricky with Toph—the lie detection can get you into trouble quickly. “I haven’t really been sleeping.”

“What’s she doing to you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sweetness, obviously. That’s who you spend your nights with.”

“We just talk, Toph.”

“Man, that’s somehow even more _soppy_.”

“Soppy?”

Toph makes kissy noises, and Zuko groans. 

“It’s not like that.” 

“You just wish it was.”

“Enough, okay?” He presses the heel of his hand to his forehead. “The reason I’m…off today. It’s not about Katara. We’re fine.”

“Hmm, fair enough. Wanna talk about it? Or do you only pour your heart out to Sugar Queen?"

“So the great Blind Bandit wants to hear about my _feelings_?”

She shrugs. “It’s been a long time since I’ve sensed you this rattled. Call me curious.”

“Toph, for a second there I thought you might actually be worried about me.”

“Well, maybe that, too.” He can’t help feeling a little touched.

“Okay, well. Being here...it means thinking about my family, and it brings up a lot of stuff. It may seem weird because they’re…”

“Monsters? War criminals? Nightmares come to life?”

“Sure, take your pick. But, yeah, would you believe that I actually thought I was happy here once? Now that I’m back, I’m seeing that it was always more complicated. And...the part of me that was happy here is the part that still loves my father and sister, in some way, even though they need to go down…” He shrugs. “It’s getting to me more than I thought it would.”

This is all true, but he wonders whether Toph can sense he hasn’t told her the whole story. If she can, she decides to ignore it. “You know, I don’t think I ever thought I was happy living with my parents,” she tells him. “I was six the first time I ran away. And it was a good thing that I did, otherwise I never would have learned to bend like I do. I’m still really mad about the way they treated me. And if I went back there today, I bet they’d try to box me in again.”

“I’d like to see them attempt it.”

“Oh believe me, Sparky,” Toph pounds a fist into her other palm. “It wouldn’t be pretty. But despite all that...I still love them. Gross, right? I’m a mushball just like you. But I don’t think it’s the same thing you’re dealing with. I mean, Lao and Poppy suck but they’re not exactly...evil. Plus, I’m not camped out at their beach house plotting their death. That’s some heavy stuff.”

Zuko shudders a little. “At least I don’t have to do it myself. Killing my father is Aang’s job.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Toph deadpans. “And he also gets to take out Azula?”

“Yeah, well, about that. I’m not sure that Azula deserves to die,” Zuko says quietly. “She was raised in this mess, too.” Not for the first time, he wonders whether, if Azula had grown up elsewhere, somewhere her overabundance of brilliance and power could have been pointed in a less destructive direction, she might have turned out more like Toph.

“I hear you, Sparky. We’ve got some stuff to work through as a group,” Toph says. “But today, I think you _really_ need to get some rest. You usually take your little siesta right about now, right?”

“Uh...yes. That’s true.” He looks at her strangely, and it must come through in his tone.

“What? You’re no use to anyone like this.”

“It’s just...Toph, are you worrying _and_ fussing over me now?”

“Better me than Sugar Queen, right? That’s not the kind of _fussing_ you want from her.” 

“Ugh, you’re awful. I’m _leaving_.” 

“Have a nice nappy-poo, princeling!”

* * *

Zuko passes out almost as soon as his head hits his pillow, and he sleeps through dinner, waking only to gentle knocking. It takes him a few moments of blinking to figure out where he is, and by that point Katara’s walked around to the balcony, and she’s letting herself in. He sits up and combs a hand through his hair, but he still feels disoriented and disheveled. 

“Should I go?” She looks nervous—he _feels_ nervous. She’s hovering by his desk, ready to put down the plate she prepared for him and make a quiet exit. 

“Not unless you want to,” he says. 

She finally smiles—a bit shyer than usual—and walks to his bed, taking a seat on the edge, handing his plate to him. It’s exactly the opposite seating arrangement from the night before and feels all the more intimate for it.

“How are you doing?”

He shrugs, placing his plate on the bedside table, his stomach too twisted up to consider eating. “I’ve been worse.”

“Toph said your bending was as bad as before you learned the dragon’s prance.”

“The _dancing dragon_ , and I think she was exaggerating. But...it wasn’t great. To be honest, I couldn’t really sleep after you left last night.”

She’s looking into her lap, and only then does he realize that she has the journal with her. “I can see why.”

Zuko swallows. “You read it?” She nods. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You know you can always—” 

“Ask. Yes, yes.” Her expression is unusually tight, and he tries to prepare himself for whatever comes next. For Zuko, Lu Ten’s earliest journal was the least revelatory of the bunch, notable mostly for what it introduced to _him_ —the blatancy of Grandfather’s preference for Iroh over Ozai, his cousin’s close relationship with Ursa, how obvious Ozai’s disdain for his son was to everyone, even so early on. But _everything_ would be new to Katara. 

“Zuko, first I wanted to say...I know it must have been hard for you to let me read this,” she says carefully. “I really appreciate that, okay?” 

“Is that your question?” he jokes to hide the shiver her words send through him. But her face is serious when she shakes her head. 

She runs her finger along the spine of the book in her hands, and mercifully avoids his gaze. “What’s Agni’s Embrace?”

_Oh._

“It’s...sometimes also called a sun catcher or a mirror den?” he says, hoping she’ll recognize the more common terms, but she just waits for him to keep talking. “Well, you know firebenders rise with the sun. A bender’s first flame almost always emerges when the sun is at its highest. It’s why our schools always take the midday meal outdoors.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah. So the theory is...the more sunlight, the more likely the flame. And an early first flame is considered a sign of strength and good fortune. That’s part of why my father always favored Azula. Anyway, wealthy families will often build structures on their properties that are designed to amplify sun exposure. There are a couple at the palace. They’re shaped kind of like cut diamonds, but...inside out? Every interior surface is mirrored, except for an opening at the very top to let in the sun.”

“That sounds like it would be uncomfortable.”

“It is. But it’s supposed to amplify the sun in a bender’s blood. In small doses, meditating there can strengthen chi flow. And it does help some benders spark flame, though Uncle thinks that’s a coincidence, and using it on kids is...controversial. At any age, if you use it too much or too long...you can get sunsick—you know, blisters, nausea...especially non benders.”

“And your father, he put you...in there…a lot?”

“Um. Well, he instructed my tutors, in secret...but yes. A bit too much, probably.”

“How much is a bit too much, Zuko?”

He winces. “I can’t remember well. But, yeah. Pretty often, I think. For a while. Until Mom found out.” He sparks a small flame in his hand and keeps his eyes trained on it as he passes it gently from palm to palm. “I was mad when she stopped it. I really wanted to be a bender.” 

Katara is perfectly silent, and when he finally works up the courage to look in her direction, her expression is steely, unreadable, a look he hasn’t seen since they were chasing down her mother’s killer, though when her eyes flash to him, they soften slightly _._

“Zuko, I’m going to ask you another question, but you don’t have to answer.” 

He nods slowly.

“When we were trapped together under Ba Sing Se...you called your scar the mark of a banished prince.”

“You remember that?”

“I remember everything you said to me that day.” 

Zuko closes his eyes and waits. 

“Well...what does that mean? A mark of banishment...is that some sort of Fire Nation exile ritual?”

“ _No!_ Of course not.”

“But...your father banished you. And you said—”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes to the question you’re trying to ask.”

Katara lets out a shaking breath, and he offers the details so that she doesn’t have to inquire after them. Everyone in the Fire Nation knows the story of his mutilation and shame, so Team Avatar’s evident ignorance on the matter had been a welcome surprise when he first joined them. But it was always going to come to this with Katara, once they began their little game of _ask me anything_. He’d known it on some level from the very first night. And now that the moment is here, it doesn’t feel at all like he expected. He feels a burden lifting with each word he speaks.

So he tells her about the council meeting, and his unwise, moralistic stand. “You were right!” she asserts, voice fervent. He tells her about the Agni Kai, the general he expected to face, the vision of his father across the room. The searing, blinding pain. The humiliation. Waking at sea, the only familiar face, his disgraced uncle.

When Katara reaches for him, he thinks she might pull him into another one of her comforting embraces. Instead, she grips each of his shoulders hard, and waits for him to meet her gaze. “You are so, _so_ strong Zuko.” She speaks with seriousness and conviction. “You are so _good_ . And you deserved _so_ much better.”

And he’s not sure how to accept these words, so he says the first thing that comes to mind. “I have better now,” and _Spirits_ he shouldn’t have implied that he _has_ her; can he take the words back? But the eyes that hold his are not affronted, and they are not pitying: they are steady, warm and sure. _Beautiful._

Katara refuses to leave his room until he finishes the meal she brought him. _You’ve gotta get your strength back up, hotman._ When he tells her he doesn’t need her fussing over him, she insists that she isn’t. _It’s no different than what you’ve done for me, and I know you’d do it again._

Once he’s alone, he contemplates curling back into his blankets and falling asleep while her warmth lingers. But no—less than half the last journal remains—he owes it to Lu Ten to finish his words, to be strong like Katara thinks he is.

> _…Grandfather came to the island for the week, but he’s barely left his study. Last night, for the first time ever, he invited me inside. He had me stand before the wall map and asked me to pin and identify all the regiments and where they are stationed. Easy, of course, I could have done so my first year at the Academy.  
> _ _Then he asked me about Ba Sing Se, how the impenetrable city might be taken, its people liberated from their penury and backward squabbles. “This will be your father’s legacy,” Grandfather announced.  
> _ _“That is an incredible honor,” I said. But didn’t our ancestors conclude the losses on our side from such an attack would be too great? And why hasn’t Father told me?…_
> 
> _…Father has always said it is a gift to taste Ember Island’s delights in a way not afforded to the son of the Crown Prince, trapped in the palace. I’m old enough now to understand that by_ delights _he means_ women _. The twinkle in his eye when he says it makes me certain I wish to know no more. Yet he is the one who initiated betrothal talks with Trade Minister Ueno. Does he wish me to be indecorous?…_
> 
> _…In the seafaring exercise I completed right before graduation, the captain invited me to dinner in his quarters, as is standard for my station, but the meal was stilted and strange. I noticed correspondence from Uncle Ozai on his desk, but Uncle has not been entrusted with naval exercises. Is this worth mentioning to Father?…_
> 
> _…Ayana builds her flame between the slender nails of her finger and thumb. I have never seen fire channeled this way, so narrow and precise. Today she let me watch her work as she singed the fine-grained paper in the shape of a rhododendron. It was nearly lovely as she is. How freeing it was to tell her this, even if it was not Lu Ten who told her, but Kuen, army private, son of merchants…_
> 
> _…Grandfather has returned to Caldera, which has relaxed Father and I both. One more week alone in the house, just us. Then Aunt, Uncle and the kids will be on their way, with all the trouble that brings, and Father will return to the Earth Kingdom.  
> _ _Finally, he has told me of his plans. This is expected to be the last campaign, and that is why Grandfather spoke of Ba Sing Se. Father will remain until the Earth capital has fallen. Does he think this a good thing? I am trying to figure out how to ask him…_
> 
> _…Yesterday I spent the whole afternoon at Ayana’s studio, but we spent most of it in her bedroom. Not like that! We only spoke...well, and kissed...Agni, she is brilliant.  
> _ _She probably should not speak so harshly of the war, but her father is from the colonies, and her assessment matches what I saw on my exercises. Her belief is mine—our culture may be most prosperous and refined, but our methods do not live up to that promise. I urged her not to speak like this in public, and she said she only opened up this way to me because she knew I could be trusted. Sometimes I wish I could simply be Kuen forever and stay at her side…_
> 
> _…Last night I saw one of our maids carrying linens into Uncle’s wing—fewer than expected. Apparently Uncle has business to attend to in Caldera, so just Aunt Ursa, Zuko and Azula are coming. I can’t pretend this does not make my life easier, but why is Ozai hanging back with Grandfather? Some scheme or another, Father says, seemingly unconcerned. Why does he always brush off his brother’s meddling?…_
> 
> _…Last night Ayana showed me a miraculous hot spring, not far from our residence, just a bit up the rock path. According to her, its waters answer a lunar call at moonset—for a few stunning minutes, the waters swirl in a perfect whirlpool. She stood on the shore, a vision in the moonlight, and watched me experience the pleasure of standing in its center. She said the pool was blessed by Tui and La…_
> 
> _…It occurs to me now: Ayana should not know the names of the Water Tribe spirits. But sometimes soldiers hear tales at sea. Or stories were passed down through colony trade routes. Certainly?…_
> 
> _…Every summer, Father tries to teach me to love Pai Sho, but there seems to be a special sobriety to the effort this time. It is so hard with him. I truly believe that he is a good man, that he is wise, that he is not a coward, that he is conflicted about what is coming. I wish I understood what is in his mind…_
> 
> _…Ayana knows Water lore because Ayana’s friends have access to banned texts; they are_ penning _banned texts,_ Ayana _is penning banned texts. She said she was taking me to meet some friends, and brought me to an underground parlor on her grandmother’s lands. When we left, I refused to speak to her until we were alone in her room._
> 
> _“How long have you known who I am?” I asked her, even though I knew the answer. She had known from the first. I believe that she will not attempt to harm or sabotage me—I am more use to her group alive and in power, their ideas planted in my head and heart. And she claims that she truly cares for me. But can’t she see that she has set all that passed between us to ashes at my feet?…_
> 
> _…Father was finally, finally straightforward with me, I think out of fear of what might happen if I repeated what I said to him beyond these walls.  
> _ _What Father believes in is_ patience _. He does not condone Grandfather’s methods—though he must carry them out to maintain filial honor and a secure succession.  
> _ _“We stand to inherit a mantle of cresting power, my son, with which we may do unimaginable good.” With patience, Father believes, his reign may initiate a global era of peace and reform—then mine secure it.  
> _ _But if Ayana’s friends are right, then there is no_ TIME. _Uncle Ozai’s ambitions are fouler than expected. Father will not accept such treachery from his brother, for reasons I cannot comprehend, having known Uncle my whole life. Still, last night was the angriest I’ve ever seen Father, and I said things I regret.  
> _ _Our farewells this morning were cordial, tender, even, but no more words on the matter passed between us. What if Uncle’s men get to him before I meet him at the front?…_
> 
> _…Aunt Ursa is thinner than I’ve ever seen her, and Zuko flinches whenever we spar. What will happen to them when I leave at the end of the summer?…_
> 
> _…It is not Grandfather’s fault that the Earth King is a corrupt, navel-gazing fool or that the Northern Water Chief is xenophobic and shortsighted. But if it is true that we have rendered the South as irrelevant as the Air Temples… Is this shattered earth my true birthright?…_
> 
> _…I should have known I could not hide my distress from Aunt Ursa. She almost never comes to our wing, but tonight she followed me onto my balcony after the kids went to bed.  
> _ _She thought it was nerves about leaving for war—and in a way, it is. Tomorrow I sail for Caldera, then on to the Earth Kingdom. How I wish I could have told her everything. If she weren’t married to Uncle, I would have. She is so worldly and understanding and I feel almost certain that if I confided in her, her views would be as mine. But I cannot put her in that position.  
> _ _So I focused on the heartbreak—and speaking of that itself provided relief beyond what I can say. She was as kind as always, though when I mentioned in passing the property where Ayana had taken me, Aunt asked me strange, anxious questions. I didn’t know enough to answer, which seemed to calm her. But this has stuck with me. I am missing something, but what?…_
> 
> _…As Father says, I will determine my own destiny. But how can I endure this legacy gilded in blood and ash?…_

When Zuko looks up from the final pages, he feels suddenly claustrophobic in Uncle’s soft bed, in a room decorated with scenes from Uncle’s favorite legends and bookshelves lined with Uncle’s personal collections. 

By the time he finished the first of his cousin’s journals, Zuko had understood that he would walk away with different answers than he’d been looking for. 

But now he is drowning in his own questions.

It is too much. And the answers to these questions no longer feel merely personal, but perhaps pivotal...in ways he cannot sense the scale of. 

No, he cannot handle this alone. And he doesn’t need to.

When he leaves his room, the moon is high over the balcony, the night air still and cool. For the first time, he is the one who raps on Katara’s door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trusting people is hard, Zuzu! You’re doing great.
> 
> This chapter was a challenge, though I’ve been looking forward to sharing it. Next chapter is a big one too, as we start to work through some of Zuko’s questions, catch Katara up to speed and find ourselves swept back up in the series plot.
> 
> Thank you so, so much for your comments and <3s and for following this journey. It does motivational wonders. I hope you continue to enjoy. I'm currently...less far ahead than usual, which makes me nervous because I like to be able to check chapters I'm posting for longer arcs/throughlines. I think next week's chapter should be on time, and if anything changes past that, I'll let you know in the notes.


	6. A Good Story — Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never before has one of these chapters outgrown its outline so completely, but here we are. At first I thought it would just be a giant beast I was never going to finish this week. But when the narrative found a natural pause around this fic’s standard chapter length, I decided to break it into two parts.
> 
> I don’t think it’s filler, but keep in mind that what is set in motion here arcs directly into what immediately follows, so I think of it as one big chapter. That means next time, we’ll still be with Katara. She’s working through some things!

Katara has always loved a good story.

Gathering to swap songs and tales was always her favorite part of feast days back home. As a girl, these shared narratives—whether retellings of the legends and parables or a warrior’s saga of exaggerated heroism—promised that life could be shaped into something larger, better, full of hope and purpose.

Once she learned to read, Katara indiscriminately inhaled the mythologies, histories and romances from her village’s limited collection. More than a mere escape from loneliness, boredom and the fear of black snow, these stories granted seductive windows into the world beyond her plane of ice and glimpses into the hearts of heroes. 

When she first read Lu Ten’s journal, Katara had been too worried about Zuko to recognize the familiar sensation of getting swept into a story. And while their conversation had twisted her insides, Zuko’s ability to speak of the worst of his suffering with calm and clarity had brought her some relief. 

So when he appears at her door mere hours later, wide-eyed and wired, assuring her that he is _alright_ , but that he will be _better_ still with her help, and that to help him, she must read the other four volumes of Lu Ten’s stories and secrets…well. She lets the journals wake an old voraciousness in her.

Katara soaks up Lu Ten’s words until she can’t hold her eyes open and rouses early to read more before she needs to make the group’s breakfast. Throughout the day, she steals off between lessons, spars and meals often catching Zuko’s urgent golden eyes on her as she tries to project an aura of normalcy. By the time she’s supposed to prep dinner with Suki and Sokka, she’s only halfway through the second journal, and Zuko stalks off when she tells him.

“What’s with Flameo?” Suki says, gesturing to the courtyard window, where Zuko can be seen taking himself through a series of particularly aggressive katas. 

“Beats me.” Sokka says. “He’s been a cranky crabbypants all day. You know, uh...more than usual.”

“What do you think, Katara?” How Suki knows this particular Zuko scowl session has something to do with her is unclear, but not much escapes the Kyoshi Warior’s notice.

“Not a clue.” She shoots Suki a warning glare.

“Maybe you should go check on him,” Suki replies with a raised eyebrow that says _I’m trying to help you out._ “We can cover things here.” And there’s no real way to argue without tipping Sokka off that something weird is going on, so she puts down her paring knife and leaves.

It takes Zuko a few moments to notice her frowning at him, arms folded as she leans against a portico column.

“You said you needed to cook.”

“Yes, and I was,” she says levelly. “You’re stressing everybody out.” 

“Oh.” His stance loosens just a bit, then he folds his arms over his bare chest. “Well, I’m not great at being patient.” 

Katara snorts _._ “I get that. I’m sorry it’s taking me time. But I know you don’t want to deal with their questions right now.”  
  
“It’s fine, Katara,” he says in a gritting tone that sounds like it is extremely not fine, that all but confirms her suspicion that he’s been holding back his incredulity at her full dance card of activities all day. His acceptance of her choices—grudging as it is—encourages her. This is the first time Zuko has ever claimed to _need_ her, and it’s different from the way she’s used to being needed. Zuko doesn’t need somebody to calm his fits or wash his socks. No, Zuko needs a sounding board, a counterpart, someone who can cover his blind spots, especially when he won’t acknowledge them. 

“Listen, I just got freed from dinner duty, so I’m going to read for a bit. Okay? Maybe you can take your brooding somewhere less...conspicuous.”

It’s the first night the two of them skip their evening conversation, but Zuko seems totally uninterested in talking to her until she’s read everything. Which is curious—Katara has plenty she’d like to discuss with him about Lu Ten’s first year at the military academy, about his penchant for contraband reading, about the revelation that Zuko’s mother was an actress. Really, Katara has _many_ questions about Ursa, who seems simultaneously wonderful, devious and sad.

Still, if she can’t spend the evening with Zuko, Lu Ten isn’t a bad substitute. He lays bare his inner life with a fluency that belies fine education and with imagination that speaks of curiosity and openness. He’s also a natural storyteller with a tendency to try to extract a moral or essential quandary out of every episode he relates, which she wonders if he gleaned directly from reading her people’s legends. 

It’s easy to see why Zuko looked up to him, and as she reads, she marks the similarities and differences between the two cousins. The same sensitivity, though Zuko is pricklier and more defensive. The same honor-bound conscience, though Lu Ten mastered a more accomplished mask. In fact, much that seems to come easily to Lu Ten, Zuko has had to struggle for—he’s described a similar dynamic with his sister, but the distinctions Katara finds with his cousin are more nurture-based. Lu Ten was raised to be Fire Lord; Zuko had been raised to...what? Be cast aside? Strive in vain?

Yet Zuko’s seemingly bottomless well of perseverance may be what she admires most about him, how much he has already overcome through sheer will. Or maybe it’s how badly he _wants_ to do the right thing. Or the way his eyes glow when she praises him. Or how he is at all points ready to match her intensity… Okay, there’s a lot to admire about Zuko. She uncovers more everyday.

For Katara, raised to fear flame-fisted murderers, Zuko’s emerging goodness has required its own paradigm shift. Now she is coming to see this not as an isolated deposit of gold in harsh stone, but rather one shining branch off a long-rooted vein. It makes her wonder, dizzyingly, whether a slightly altered threading of familial traits may have averted a hundred years of war.

It’s hours past midnight by the time she starts the last journal, but within pages she knows she won’t be able to stop until she’s done. Her intrigue escalates, twists with concern, a torrent of feelings—which she should have expected, given Zuko’s behavior. It’s too much to process, her rage at Ozai, her fascination with Lu Ten’s dawning political awareness, her questions about what Fire Nation citizens were and were not told about the Southern raids. And amid everything, she is also almost embarrassingly transfixed by Lu Ten’s honest words about falling in love.

By the time she reads the final pages, the first twilit promise of dawn trims the horizon and her chest burns with the loss of a man she’ll never know. She debates trying to sleep—to dull the rawness of her emotions—but she’d assured Zuko she would come to him as soon as she could. 

When she lets herself into his bedroom and takes up her post on the edge of his bed, she’s relieved to find him fast asleep and feels almost sorry to wake him. If any of their friends knew how much time she’d been spending on Zuko’s bed in recent days they’d probably picture a much different scene. Fervent kisses, eager hands, tangled limbs… And only as she lets her mind wander this now-familiar path does she realize.

She’d pictured Zuko in every single romantic passage from Lu Ten’s journals.

Of course she did. What other model for Fire Nation princeliness does she have? On some level, she’d envisioned a hazy, neat-haired version of her friend through every page. But her traitorous imagination had certainly sharpened the picture in those tender scenes, conjuring a fond-eyed, passionate and thoughtful Zuko in love. Not some conflation with Lu Ten, she realizes as she watches Zuko’s one set of eyelashes flutter — absolutely _her_ Fire Prince. 

No, no, not _her_ anything except her _friend_. Her friend whose known paramour is well-born and silky-haired and acerbic and _nothing like her_. Her friend who has trusted her to help him figure out his family’s tangled, torturous web, who certainly does not need her gawking at him. 

When she first calls Zuko’s name to wake him, her voice is shaky. _Get a grip, Katara._ She clears her throat and tries again, and his eyes—at first soft and sleepy—sharpen with relief.

“You’ve finished?” He asks as he sits up.

“I have.” she affirms, faltering slightly under his close attention. “I...have a lot of questions.”

“Yes, yeah,” he says, scooting forward, voice eager. “Me, too. So many, Katara. _Agni_ , thank you. And about yesterday, I’m sorry I got frustrated. I know you do so much for everyone.”

His frantic earnestness snaps her out of her daze. “Zuko, no apologies needed. I get it. I take it you didn’t know much about what happened that last summer?”

“Not at all.” He shakes his head rapidly, “I mean, what _is_ all this? With my dad and this group and my mom being all cagey. It’s...I don’t know what to _do_ with all of it. That’s why I wanted you to read them. Because I’m not even sure where to begin.”

“And you think maybe we should...do something with it...now?” She says carefully, and he looks a little stuck, so she clarifies, “Zuko, I think that could be true. But it might be easiest if we work through some of our questions together. Here, do you have stuff to write with? I can take them down.” 

“Yeah...yeah, that sounds good.” He grabs a scroll, writing slab and pen for her. And it’s a relief to slide into this equilibrium, a seamless teamwork she’d sensed with Zuko even before she’d forgiven him. _You protect me from the falling rocks, and I’ll catch you as you fall; you show me to the watchtower, and I’ll bend our ice float; you intimidate our enemy, and I’ll attack._

He sets up a pillow against the headboard for her to lean against, and he moves to the foot of his bed, turning around to face her and slinging his arms over his knees. “Okay.” She settles the writing slab on her thighs. “So...why don’t you start?”

“Okay well my first question is why on Agni’s earth would Lu Ten leave these here. Hiding your diaries behind some old books is one thing, but it seems kind of a needlessly risky move when they’re chock full of treasonous musings.”

“You know, I didn’t really think about that. And he left them behind outlawed books, too. Do you think he was leaving them for someone?” 

Zuko rubs a hand across his forehead. “I guess it’s possible, but who? Uncle would never have left them behind. And it’s clear Father never found them, otherwise he would have used them to besmirch Lu Ten’s name. And he hasn’t.”

“Someone from Ayana’s group, maybe?”

“It’s possible, but it’s not like he left a note…”

“Well, there are also a whole lot more books in his room, and it seems possible he’d have some of those banned texts he mentioned, right?”

“That’s...yeah, that’s intriguing. We should take a look later today. So...just write that down for now.”

“Yep, got it.”

“You said you had a lot of questions, too.”  
  
“I do, but…” She fiddles with the pen. “I mean it’s your family.”

“I can handle it, Katara.”

“Okay...well, to be honest my first question was do you think your dad had Lu Ten killed? 

“Yeah,” Zuko sighs. “Yeah. That’s a big one, isn’t it? And add to that—did he try to have Uncle assassinated? It sounds like he was definitely planning on it.”

“And it sounds like Lu Ten tried to warn your Uncle, so maybe he actually did something with that?” 

“Maybe. That seems plausible. Although it’s weird...I keep getting stuck on the timeline. I mean Lu Ten wasn’t killed for almost two more years.”

“Huh. And he was at the front with your Uncle that whole time?”

“Yeah, they were together, or at least as far as I’ve always understood. I’ve got to say, I have a lot of questions for Uncle. Like, why didn’t he tell me any of this. I mean he spent years trying to get me to see the truth. You’d think he could have added some of this fuel to the fire.”

“Well I’m also curious about Lu Ten’s girlfriend’s group…”  
  
“Oh yeah, I have a lot of questions about _them_.” Zuko launches into an explanation about some sort of secret society Iroh is part of, the Order of the White Lotus, that helped them secure passage to Ba Sing Se when they were on the run. Zuko doesn’t know much more about the group, and he wonders if they could somehow be related. 

“I don’t know. You said your Uncle has been a member of his group for a long time...and it seems pretty clear he wasn’t too thrilled with whatever ideas Lu Ten was spouting.”

“That’s true,” Zuko concedes. “Regardless, if that group was active on Ember Island back then, do you think maybe they’re still around? Could they still be working against my father?”

“You’re thinking we could work with them?"

“It’d be worth investigating... Not like we couldn’t use the help.” Katara thinks briefly of Aang. So strong, so young, the terrible burden on his shoulders.

“Do you think she still lives here? Ayana, I mean. She seemed pretty awesome.”

“What? How could you say that? She manipulated Lu Ten, lied to him...and then she broke his heart!” This is the first either of them has spoken of the more personal components of Lu Ten’s journals, and Zuko’s vehemence sends an electric thrill through her. 

“I mean I get why Lu Ten was hurt, but it seemed to me like Ayana really cared about him. And she helped him see the truth. Maybe she got close to him because of his position, but all of those moments he wrote about...they seemed so special.”

“You think that outweighs what she did?” Zuko leans forward, his voice rumbling. “Put the romance scroll back on the shelf, Katara.” She suppresses a shudder. 

_Spirits,_ she lives for this, doesn’t she? “Well, he lied to her too! He said he was a merchant’s son. He was just using her for a summer fling. You don’t think that would hurt her?”

Zuko’s eyes widen, then narrow. “Maybe he hid his identity, but he wasn’t going to break her heart.”

“So you think he was going to march back to Sweet Grandpa Azulon and ask to court an artist, the daughter of some colonist? Who’s reading romance scrolls now?” 

“Well I knew Lu Ten, and I’ll tell you something.” Zuko’s raspy voice is low and ardent, his golden eyes molten. “There is absolutely no way he could feel that strongly for someone and not fight for her. No matter her station…no matter where she came from.” Seated so close to her, he’s every inch the impassioned young man she’d imagined, and Katara is overtaken by a surge of longing so intense it must be plain on her face.

A knock at the door freezes the moment; Aang’s voice shatters it. “Sifu Hotman? You talking to yourself in there?”

Zuko curses under his breath. “Hi, Aang.” Katara glances frantically around for a hiding space. Zuko shakes his head and stills a heated hand on her arm, mouthing, _Wait_. “That’s right we were going to do the sunrise salutations today. I was just um...practicing the verses.”

“Cool! I can’t wait.”

“Yeah, it’ll be great.” Zuko’s voice stays impressively calm, and he doesn’t let go of eye contact with her for an instant. “Hey, Aang, can you meet me on the beach? I just need a few more minutes to get ready.”

“Sure thing! I was just down there, so I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget.”

“Yeah, yeah thanks…I’ll see you soon.”

When Aang’s footsteps fade, Katara lets out a long, shaking breath, collapses back onto the pillows and hides her face in her hands.

“Listen,” Zuko says, “I got carried away just then...I didn’t mean—I meant…” and only his stammering frees her from her paralysis. She lowers her hands, meets his eyes, and a current passes between them. His expression looks open, hopeful. “We made good progress, Katara.”

“Yeah,” she echoes, testing her voice. “Good progress.”

“I think you should try to get some sleep, okay? I can make breakfast for everyone after Aang and I finish. No one else should be up by then.” 

And there’s another thing she admires about him, how he’s always learning—if he doesn’t step up, she’ll do every single chore, no matter how exhausted she is. “That would be great. Thank you.”

“Tonight…we can talk more? Go through the books in your room?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, sounds good, Zuko. Good plan.” 

She doesn’t expect she’ll be able to sleep when she crawls back into her bed, bathed in dawn light, but she does. The dreams… 

The dreams, she should have expected. 

* * *

Katara has always told a good story.

A story packed with adventure and hearty meals could quiet Sokka’s spiralling fears after their father left for war. A story featuring slapstick mishaps and reunited loved ones could make Gran Gran laugh no matter the storm in her eyes. A story held in Katara’s own heart on howling, motherless nights, could grant an escape to action and triumph. 

_Katara finds a master; Katara brings bending back to the South; Katara becomes an agent of global peace._

The start of a good story had laid itself at her feet when Aang emerged from the iceberg, taking shape with all the hope and purpose she had imagined. The only difference was that, in this story, Katara was not the hero. She was the fair maiden who rode at his side. _You will marry a powerful bender._ Still a worthwhile destiny, she’d decided, still a chance to do much for the world. Still a good story, she had thought. 

It didn’t feel like the romances she’d read or the tales swapped in the women’s tent. But then, didn’t their affections and passions often render those women weak and subservient? When she’d felt a quick, fevered bloom for Jet, then seen how that turned out, she’d dismissed such desire as a dangerous distraction from their mission. She’d credited this dismissal with her ambivalence toward the Avatar. Aang didn’t inspire those emotions because she knew better than to feel such things.

_Wrong, Katara._

_Wrong, wrong, wrong._

* * *

“You’re distracted.” Suki observes as she corrects Katara’s defensive stance for the fifth time. Late morning training sessions with Suki have become one of Katara’s favorite parts of her days on Ember Island. The Kyoshi Warrior has focused their lessons on styles that will complement Katara’s bending, and Katara has been fascinated to see the similarities to her own forms: the fluidity of movement, the redirection of force. 

Toph often hangs around for their lessons, though she’s displayed no interest in joining in. Understandable, Katara thinks—the ability to make the ground swallow one’s opponent supplants most of the need for elementless combat. Still, there’s a certain pride she takes in the makeshift lady warrior club that’s come together in recent weeks. It’s brought her closer to both girls.

Thankfully, Toph is elsewhere today. 

“Fine.” Katara lets her shoulders sag. “I’m distracted.” 

“Come on. We can pick this back up later.” Suki walks Katara over to a patch of white sand shaded by wide-fronded palms. “So talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Suki, can I ask you something...personal?"

“Okay, now I’m really curious. Go on.” 

“Is it a…problem for the Kyoshi Warriors that you’re involved with Sokka?”

“Because he’s Water Tribe?”

“No...I mean, I guess I’d be interested in knowing about that too. But I meant more… You’re all these amazing women warriors, and you’re so strong. They don’t see—having a romantic...entanglement as a weakness?"

“Why would they?” Suki asks, and when Katara just shrugs miserably, she continues. “Actually, the Warriors are really supportive of...love bonds,” Suki looks at the back of her hands as she says this. “The thought is that you will want to fight more fiercely if you have someone you’re totally devoted to, that you want to protect. Especially if you’re fighting together. Kyoshi fought alongside her lover Rangi for many years, and their bond was said to make them stronger.”

“Do you feel stronger when you’re fighting with Sokka?” 

Suki taps the side of her lip. “You know, I’m so used to being surrounded by my warriors…it’s different. I definitely feel like it matters even more when he’s at my side, but...we haven’t, uh, we haven’t exactly talked about our feelings, Sokka and me. And, well, I know there was someone else...”

“Suki,” Katara places a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You know Yue isn’t really...um, around anymore, right?”

“Actually,” Suki gestures above them, “she’s kind of _always_ around, you know? And all _glowy_.”

“You’re jealous because the moon is...glowy?”

“Well, it sounds ridiculous when you say it like _that._ It’s just that everything I’ve heard about Yue makes her sound…so different from me. A princess and a delicate beauty and I’m, yeah, I’m not those things. I mean, Sokka _says_ he likes that I can hand him his ass, but…” Suki shrugs lightly, but Katara can see the tension in her friend’s posture.

“Look, Suki. I really think you should talk to Sokka about this because I bet he’d be sad if he heard that you felt this way. But I can tell he adores you. You work together so well, and you push him in ways that make him better at what he loves, and there’s something really wonderful about that, you know? That you excel at what he cares about. You just told me that having feelings for someone can make you fight harder. Don’t you think fighting alongside someone could strengthen your feelings for them, too?”

Suki blushes at this, then smirks. “So that’s what a famous Katara pep talk sounds like. No wonder Aang’s so hooked.” Katara’s expression crumples, and Suki winces. “Sorry. I know...that’s not what you want to hear right now.”

“Is it…that obvious?” Katara knows her voice comes out weak. 

“You forget that I’m an elite warrior trained to read people’s subtlest gestures,” Suki says. “Do you want to know what I think?” 

Katara nods slowly, squinting at sunlight shimmering on the sea.

“You know I haven’t been Prince Flamethrower’s biggest fan. But you seem to really balance each other out. The last couple days aside, he’s much more relaxed and fun to be around now that you’re close. And you seem even more motivated and focused. So if you ask me, which you kind of did, I don’t think having feelings for him—” Suki cuts her off before she can protest, “Come on Katara, it’s just me, relax.” Katara closes her eyes, and gestures for Suki to continue. “I don’t think having feelings for him makes you weak at all. Maybe the opposite.”

And Katara isn’t sure if this is true because she feels kind of wrung out and woozy, but these words do loosen the knot in her chest.

* * *

The afternoon ticks by at an agonizing pace. All Katara wants is to make it through dinner and return to her room with Zuko where they will pore through books side by side, swapping questions and debating and making plans… 

She’s sitting next to Toph, watching Zuko and Aang work through the synchronized forms they’d practiced that morning, when Suki and Sokka return from the market, gathering the group around a poster. A poster with clumsy renderings of...them.

She and Zuko both try to talk the group out of this frivolous trip to the theater. Zuko disparages the quality of the troupe’s craft—not a particularly effective argument, given his audience. Katara urges caution about being recognized at a play _about them_. But Sokka is adamant, Suki and Toph are intrigued...and really, Aang could use a distraction couldn’t he? What’s she supposed to say, “No, I don’t want to go to the theater because I want to hide out with the Fire Prince in my bedroom as we talk about a big secret we’re keeping from you.” Zuko catches her eye miserably across the group and shrugs his shoulders. They’ll just have to meet after.

The truth is that on any other day, Katara probably would have jumped at this chance to go to the theater. Not since she was a child and her mother was tucking her under her furs has she had the opportunity to hear a story where _she_ is a character. The chance to do so in a fancy Fire Nation theater...she cannot deny that the prospect holds a certain appeal.

* * *

The Ember Island Players do not tell a good story. 

When Katara looks back later, she will see it much clearer, how the night ends where it does—with her old dreams scattered to the wind by what stirs in their place. 

Aang monopolizes her attention on the walk to town, noting as they fall into step at the back of the group how lovely she looks tonight, which is especially uncomfortable because she’s watching the shift of Zuko’s black-clad shoulders as he says it.

The interior of the theater is even grander than she imagined, draped in predictable red and gold, the dramatic hues seeming a perfect accompaniment for theatrics. ... _At least the theater is an attractive space,_ Lu Ten had written, _though why Aunt Ursa insists we come every summer, I will never understand. As an actress she must have been as lovely, sensitive and subtle as she always is. Perhaps she laughs to herself through every scene?..._

When they take their seats, Zuko wedges between her and Aang, despite the Avatar’s protests. She tucks her hair behind her ear, pretending not to listen, but Zuko’s insistence sends a surge of warmth through her chest. Beside her Toph chuckles, and Katara shoves her lightly. 

There’s an immediate thrill in seeing versions of herself and Sokka on the stage, though she’d _never_ wear a parka with a slit that large—especially not on the South Pole—and things only worsen when stage-Katara opens her mouth.

With warnings from the journals and Zuko’s words, it’s not like Katara had expected high art. But this butchering feels personal. It’s like the playwright was given a map to the heart of their individual insecurities and charted the most painful, slipshod course. Sokka’s inane jokes lack their undercurrent of heart and cleverness; Aang’s good cheer is played as flighty, feminine and foolish; Zuko’s self-serious harshness with Iroh underlines his every portrayed mistake. And stage-Katara? She is everything real-Katara fears becoming: Over-emotional. Boy crazy. _Weak_.

 _Oh, Jet, you’re so bad._ Embarrassment floods her cheeks, and she can feel Zuko’s curious gaze on her and Toph’s rumbling laughter at her side.

But the scene under Ba Sing Se is much, much worse. Its mere presence feels like some sort of cosmic betrayal. She hadn’t expected to be confronted with any version of this moment—who knew that she and Zuko had been trapped alone under the Earth Capital? Only Iroh and Aang had seen them. 

_I have to admit, Prince Zuko, I really find you attractive! I’ve had eyes for you since the day you first captured me._

And that’s not how it was! Katara and Zuko share a look of embarrassment; she sees frustration in his gaze too, and frets for a moment: does he think her so shallow? Because it hadn’t been like that at all—that tender moment between just the two of them, that still makes her heart ache with thwarted potential even all these months later. Not then, when she was just unearthing his startling humanity in the green crystal light, and not now that she knows him so much better, when she’s drawn to him for so much more. 

_I have to admit, Zuko, I really find you attractive._ She imagines saying it on their balcony in the rosy evening light, and the fantasy is nothing like the scene before her. It’s terrifying and intimate, its honesty emerges from deep inside her. The clarity is freeing, exhilarating like the climax of a good story, a moment of hope and purpose. And when she looks at him beside her, his handsome profile regal in the low light, his serious golden eyes trained on the stage, the surge of affection is clear and sure, her body buzzing. She feels like she could do _anything_.

He must notice her staring because his eyes flash to hers, questioning. When she just smiles back at him, he returns it, his gaze still curious, but fond.

 _I thought you were the Avatar’s girl._

A month ago, she wouldn’t have blinked at these words. Now they constrict like a too-tight collar she doesn’t know how to unclasp. Zuko’s eyes close before he can see the minute shaking of her head. Past him, she sees the slight bob of Aang’s chin. 

_Why, he's like a little brother to me!  
_ _I certainly don't think of him in a romantic way._

When the Avatar flees the room, she begins to follow. It’s a deeply ingrained habit: Chase-and-Soothe. But then the stage-Fire Prince is betraying stage-Iroh, and Zuko’s folded his arms over the railing, his expression pinched with pain. No, she will not leave him to face this alone.

Aang can wait until intermission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once I figured out EIP wasn’t all going to fit into one chapter, I had thought about switching POV in what follows as usual so we could see Zuko’s view of the play, too, but we really need Katara to take us where we’re going next.
> 
> I know there are a couple slight canon divergences here (notably, Suki seems unaware of Yue at the play in the EIP episode). If you can’t tell, my impulse at all points is to give Suki more credit (and hopefully(?) a bit more complexity than the show had time to). Anyway, I guess canon is obviously headed for the dust at this point anyway.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading and commenting and sharing your thoughts and kudos. It makes this journey so much more fun.


	7. A Good Story — Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friendly reminder that these characters are aged up a couple years here, and also, hi, I ticked the rating up for...reasons. 
> 
> Episode dialogue is borrowed more fully than usual—not mine of course. More notes at the end.

Aang has always been the subject of stories.

In the century he slumbered beneath the sea, he was the world’s great mystery, its hidden hope. In tales of his return, Aang is diversely mythologized. Some laud him as fearsome and all-powerful; others believe he must be merciful and benevolent. To the Ember Island Players, he is emasculated and frivolous. 

In no legends is he just a boy, the boy Katara finds slumped against the railings of the theater balcony, his silhouette slight against the velvet sky. How easy it would be to tuck him to her as she always does. Her stomach twists, and she wraps her arms across herself as she makes her way to him. 

“Are you alright?” 

“No, I’m not! I hate this play.” He hurls his hat to the ground. The fury in Aang’s tone is jarring; he’s never this way with her. But then, she always follows immediately. 

She tries to keep the nerves out of her voice. “I know it's upsetting, but it sounds like you're overreacting.”

“Overreacting? If I hadn't blocked my chakra, I'd probably be in the Avatar State right now!”

She thinks of the first time she saw the Avatar State at the Southern Air Temple, Aang’s expanding forcefield of howling havoc, how she had brought him back to earth with promises of family, always. _What the world has asked of this boy, it is too much._ So she had felt, so she does feel; she will stand at his side forever. And if this devotion isn’t the kind that he wants, is it worth nothing? 

She places her palms on the balcony railing, wrapping her fingers around the smooth wood. She pulls a slow breath into her chest and lets it go. Knowing what to say to ease Aang’s harshest emotions has always been one of her superpowers, but every word she thinks to say tastes bitter on her tongue. 

“Katara, did you really mean what you said in there?”

“In where? What are you talking about?”

“On stage, when you said I was just like a...brother to you, and you didn't have feelings for me.”

“I didn't say that. An actor said that.”

“But it's true, isn't it? We kissed at the Invasion, and I thought we were gonna be together. But we're not.” 

There is no right answer; she understands this instantly. Her best friend deserves her honesty, but then, he just threatened a cosmic tantrum at the mere suggestion that Katara’s affections lie elsewhere. What if telling Aang the truth knocks him off course, dooming the world? How could she be selfish enough to risk it? “Aang, I don't know.”

“Why don't you know?” 

“Because we're in the middle of a war.” The true words come easily. And why is he pressing her on this? Aang who is so easygoing, so patient with his friends’ hearts. “We have other things to worry about. This isn't the right time.”

“Well, when is the right time?” His eyes are shining, lancing her chest. 

_Never_ , she thinks miserably. “Aang, I'm sorry.” _It will never be the right time to break your heart_. “But right now I'm just a little confused.” _Wretched_ is more like it. Aang has been through too much, lost too much, and what legendary hero doesn’t get the love he deserves? She has always put him first; that has always felt right, and why should this be any different? No matter how Zuko may feel for her, when the war ends, he will be in the Fire Nation. Perhaps with time and distance this incredible swirl of emotion will fade, and she will be able to see what blooms with Aang. She closes her eyes and tries to calm her breath. There’s a firm press on her lips. 

Her eyes fly open; Aang has attached himself to her mouth. The affection and urgency she can see in his features turn her stomach; it’s like his desire lives behind a window—she can see it, but she cannot feel it, only violated and ashamed. She jumps back and covers her mouth, barely stopping herself from wiping residue of the kiss from her lips.

“I just said I was confused!” Her voice comes out high and shaky, and he stares at her blankly. “I’m going inside,” she says before he can see the tears she feels prickling behind her eyes.

In the dozens of Avatar tales they’ve encountered on their travels, one theme recurs: Aang is the sun that the rest of them orbit. Yet Aang has always looked at Katara like _she_ is the sun. 

But no. He will always be at the center, she can see that now. His terrible responsibility, his power, his desire.

He has never known life otherwise. 

* * *

Stage-Katara got tearbending wrong. Anyone can cry, but only a true tearbender can wick the evidence from her cheeks in an instant. Still, Zuko knows something’s off when he spots her at the edge of their aisle. He turns fully to face her, his brow pulled in concern. Coming back to her place beside him feels like returning to a steady, toasty fire after a long day trudging across ice, and how dare Aang make her question this? No, how dare she let herself question it? She scoots a little closer so she can feel the actual heat rolling off the firebender. “I’m fine,” she tells him, and he frowns but doesn’t press her. 

The players somehow manage to make even her time as the Painted Lady look pathetic. (Healing the river with her tears? Seriously?) She considers leaving, but then Zuko leans down to whisper, “You actually saved that town didn’t you?” Amusement pairs with admiration in his voice, and she lets herself settle back beside him, stirring slightly when she hears Aang return.

The Avatar takes the open seat beside Sokka instead of her. He’s returned just in time to watch their failed invasion and hear stage-Katara reaffirm her strictly sisterly affection for his character. Part of Katara thinks: _good,_ but mostly she just feels ill. Maybe it’s worse when this stupid play gets things right.

When the story catches up to the present, and the curtain fails to fall, there’s a sweep of collective dread in their box. And really, they should have expected this Fire Nation play would feature some horrible prophecy for their future. Her heart rate spikes as they watch stage-Zuko and stage-Azula face off, the tense dance between red and blazing blue. Narrow ribbons make for trifling flame, but her imagination supplies its own horrors, and Zuko tenses at her side. 

From the first, she knows stage-Zuko will not win this duel, but when the actor falls behind a blaze with a final cry of _HONOR!_ it still spears through her. The erupting applause is like the cackling of demon-spirits all around them. Her hand scrabbles to clasp his fully under his billowing sleeve, pressing their palms flush together and squeezing until he returns the movement. Mere moments later, when they watch the stage-Avatar fall in a tangle of fire-dyed cloth, there’s a pressure in her lungs. 

She turns instantly, her gaze finding Aang’s, and she tries to say it with her eyes: _I’m still here._ _I always will be_. But she also feels in her bones—as she never has before—how tenuous it is, their hope.

* * *

They’re barely out of the theater when Suki hooks her arm through Katara’s, and she feels immediately grateful, even if Suki clings to her a bit too tightly as she hustles them to the front of the group; everyone looks haunted. Only after several minutes does Katara realize that her friend is ignoring her brother, who walks a half step behind them. She remembers hearing Sokka’s choked sounds as stage-Yue ascended into the sky and his immature jockeying to get his jokes into the script. Stage-Suki didn’t even have lines. Katara gives her friend’s arm a squeeze.

Weirdly, Zuko is the one who breaks the heavy silence. “That...wasn’t a good play.” And what is there to do but agree? Katara feels a little swell of relief when Aang is the first to chime in. 

“You know what’s funny?” Sokka says into the resumed quiet. “They didn’t even bother offing the rest of us. Like, if they think taking out Aang and Zuko would really be the end of it, and you three girls aren’t going to whoop them into the sun, they’ve got another thing coming.”

“You raise an important point, Snoozles.” 

Katara catches Suki’s eye. “Talk to him,” she whispers. If only she could see her own path so clearly.

* * *

Someday Zuko’s life will make a great story, like none Katara has ever heard.

She thinks about this sometimes when she watches him. He’ll be teaching Aang a new form, meditating on the beach, or steaming dry laundry she didn’t ask for his help with, and she’ll find herself awed anew at the way he has turned from malice to kindness, wrath to calm, entitlement to generosity. Born to a mantle of terrifying power, having wrought such change in himself, how might he transform the world? 

She’s thinking about this as Zuko examines the bookshelves in her bedroom. The gang had quickly retreated to their beds upon returning to the house, but Zuko had followed her when she asked if he still wanted to look through Lu Ten’s collection. In the aftermath of the play, the activity she’d looked forward to all day seems impossibly daunting to her, but Zuko has charged ahead like always.

He’s trailing his fingers along the spines of a row of national histories, _Honorable Deeds of the Lords of Fire, Volumes I-IV_ , when his hand drops to his side. “Do you think...” he says in a quiet voice. “Would it be okay if we picked this back up tomorrow?”

“Oh,” She tries to keep her voice light. “Of course. You must be exhausted.” 

“No—I’m. Not exhausted, I...” He turns to face her and there’s something shattered and howling behind his eyes. _Oh._ He’d been putting up a mask with the others, but he can’t maintain it any longer. How had she missed this? She calls him over to sit at her side and she places a hand on his back.

“Talk to me.” 

“What is there to say? My people hate me. They cheer my death. And who could blame them?”

“Zuko, those people don’t know a thing about you, not really. And when they do, it will be different.”

“But you saw it—they’ve already written me off as the scarred, disgraced prince.” 

She takes a deep breath. “They’re right.”

“What?”

“You _are_ a disgrace.” He rears back, looking stricken, and she nearly loses her resolve. “You heard me.” She stares at him hard. “Now let it go.”

“What?”

“A wise person once told me you had to let go of the horrible things people say about you if you want to fulfill your destiny. That who you are has to come from within.”

“Katara—”

“Did you mean what you said then?”

“Yes, but—” 

“It’s horrible what we saw. But it’s just a stupid play, written to make us all look bad because we’re the enemy. Of course it feels terrible to us, but…” She shrugs. “When we win the war, you’ll win them over. I mean, I thought you were a horrible person, remember? But now I know you’re kind and thoughtful and amazing. Because you _showed_ me, and I know that wasn’t easy because I know how hard I made it. And you know what? You’re strong and honorable, too, all the things a prince is supposed to be, and you actually _care_ about your people, and they’ll know it someday. Because you’ll show them.” When he doesn’t respond, she presses, “Zuko you _will._ ”

He shakes his head, but when he glances back at her, he looks almost wistful. “They were wrong about you, too, you know.”

“Oh, whatever.”

“They were! You’re not a _crybaby_. You’re _formidable_. And your speeches? Well, I wouldn’t call them that, but you can do something really special, the way you build people up.” Zuko’s sincerity makes her heart squeeze in her chest. “You’re the true center of this group, always putting others first."

She lets her palm fall back into her lap, and she stares into it as she tries to blink back yet more tears.

“Sorry…Did I say something wrong? I’m not good at this like you are.”

“No, it’s not you, Zuko. You’re perfect.” She knows she sounds despairing.

“Katara,” he hesitates, “What happened tonight?”

She looks up at him but says nothing.

“Something with Aang, right?” he presses, gently.

And she’d rather not talk about this with him, dreads doing or saying _anything_ that might make Zuko pull away from her or diminish the sense of _possibility_ that buzzes between them. But Zuko isn’t Aang. She doesn’t need to lie to protect his feelings. That she can tell Zuko anything is what makes them such a good team. 

“Something with Aang,” she confirms quietly. “He kissed me.”

“ _Oh_.” It’s a punching exhale of a sound. “And you...didn’t want that?”

“ _N_ _o._ ” She spits out, and she feels his eyes searching her face.

“You were really upset when you came back.”

“I...yes.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Well, Aang was upset about how he was portrayed, which is fair, of course. We all were, except Toph.”

“Right…”

“But he was _furious_ , Zuko.” She closes her eyes. “He was upset he was played by a woman, but he was especially mad about the way my character on stage kept saying he was just like a brother. And he wanted to know if that was true. He wouldn’t let it go.”

“Wouldn’t let it go how?”

“Like when I said I didn’t know, he kept pressing me on it, so I said it wasn’t the right time and I was confused. And then he _kissed me_ , as though he could un-confuse me with his _lips_.” She scrubs her hand hard across her face.

Zuko is silent for a long moment. “He shouldn’t have done that.” By the look on his face, she can tell he’s not done, that he’s working up to something. Her leg twitches as she waits. “Katara?”

“Yes?”

“A few weeks ago, you said that you wanted to be with Aang after this is all over.” He’s waiting for her to speak, she realizes, but her voice is stuck in her throat. “Well? Is that still true?”  
  
She shakes her head slowly, then quicker, surer. “I felt... _ashamed_ when he kissed me, Zuko. And I don’t know why, because it was just a peck, really. And I do love Aang, and there’s so much pressure on him, like maybe it’s selfish of me to refuse to—” 

“Stop right there.” Zuko’s voice has taken on the low, serious tone from the morning, and she glances up to him. “Just because Aang is the Avatar doesn’t mean his feelings are the only ones that count. What you want matters, too, Katara.”

She swallows. “Yeah.” 

“ _It does._ ”

“Not to Aang,” she mumbles.

“I don’t…” Zuko grimaces the way he does when he’s about to agree to something he doesn’t like. “I don’t actually think that’s true—” He holds up a hand. “Wait, I’m not saying it’s an excuse. Aang _never_ should have pushed you like that or kissed you when you didn’t want it, but tonight was a strain on all of us. And you _know_ how much Aang cares about you.”

“I…yes. I understand that you’re right, that maybe he didn’t mean everything he said. But Zuko…Aang told me he would’ve gone into the _Avatar State_. Like—” She rubs at her temples with both hands. “Like he would have called upon the _rage of his past lives_ at the very IDEA that I might _have_ my own desires, let alone _pursue_ them.” 

She only realizes exactly what she’s said when he fails to reply, and she looks back to find him watching her with an intensity she can’t handle, not all tangled up with the rest of the night. She climbs unsteadily to her feet and walks to the window; the quarter moon hovers low over the sea, and she wants badly to be bathed in its light, washed clean.

* * *

When Katara tells the story later, she’ll claim she didn’t know what she was doing. Zuko will call her on it, of course, like he always does when she’s selling herself short. _Come on, Katara,_ he will say. _You always know what you’re after._

But there’s more than one kind of knowing, and all that Katara can say for sure as they head up the stone path behind the beach house is how good it feels to leave it all behind for a while: the horrible evening, the royal residence and the Avatar who sleeps inside. It’s nearly midnight, and Zuko leads the way, each of them holding lanterns he grabbed from the attic. At first they follow the path to town, but then Zuko leads her through a hidden turn between jagged rocks. The incline increases, but the exertion feels good. 

This excursion had been her idea. “Think about it,” she’d said, “Neither of us could sleep if we wanted to, and we’re not up for hitting the books. You said you might know where Ayana’s hot spring is, right? Best case, we learn something. Worst case, we get to take a dip in some soothing waters, which we could both probably use anyway.” He hadn't put up much of a fight.

“Did you come here a lot growing up?” she asks as they reach the top of the outcropping, making another tight turn onto a narrow path between two tall stone faces.

“Not really, no. There’s a much bigger hot spring to the east, and Uncle liked that one. So did my mother, so we went there sometimes. But I spent a lot of time exploring these hills as a kid.” As they continue, the stone walls flanking the path grow taller, and it feels as though they’re walking to the heart of a mountain. 

Zuko’s steps slow. Ahead of them, the path widens just a bit before its walls curve to a close behind a small basin. She approaches the near-perfect circle of steaming water. “This is it?”

“I think so.” 

Placing their lanterns on opposite sides of the pool, they inspect the tight space, it’s jagged gray walls, the sprinkling of dark vegetation around the edges of the spring.

“This seems like the sort of place Tui and La would like,” Katara says as she walks a slow circle around the perimeter, then looks up at the star-kissed sky. “I just don’t know why they would have blessed waters here, where no one honors them.”

“Yeah, I thought maybe there’d be an inscription or something.” He takes a seat near the pool.

“You know what this place reminds me a little of?” Katara asks.

“What?” 

She smirks, lowers her voice and tries to fill it with rasping menace. “ _You rise with the moon._ I _rise with the sun._ ”

He groans. “Don’t you think we’ve covered enough of the Zuko’s Most Nefarious Moments highlight scroll tonight?”

“Oh, tearbend me a river.” She lifts her shirt over her head then shimmies out of her skirt, trying not to let her fingers shake with nerves. Zuko has seen her in her wrappings dozens of times now, but never alone at night, just the two of them. He’s staring at the ground when she finishes folding her clothes. She takes her time sliding into the heated water, humming with pleasure as she submerges; when she resurfaces, his golden eyes are on her.

The pool itself is no more than six feet in diameter, and she feels both excited and shy as she thinks of how close they will be when he joins her. But he hasn’t moved from where he sits. “Come on,” she says. “It feels great.” 

“I’m happy just relaxing here,” he says with an awkward shake of his head.

“Well, suit yourself.” Surrounded by her element, reaching for her people’s spirits, she feels grounded and sure, her intuition sensual and strong. She bends a curl of springwater the size of her fist and swirls it before Zuko. “Put your hand out.” He only hesitates for an instant. She pulls the steaming water across his palm, a slick caress. His eyes are back on hers with that painful focus. As she pulls the water back toward her, he begins to follow.

All around her, the spring takes on a new, tingling heat, spinning first around her toes, then up her knees, her hips, her waist. In seconds, it surrounds her fully, a wonderful, heated whirl that caresses her skin and soothes her muscles, just as Lu Ten described. She pulls the water she sent to Zuko back into the swirling tide around her. Lifting her feet, she lets the waters twirl her, hair splayed, eyes closed, lips parted to the sky. “Come in, Zuko! You’ve got to try this.”

“There’s not really enough space."

“Of course there is.” She propels to one side of the spring with her bending.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, come on, I don’t want you to miss it.”

He tosses his shirt aside before sliding into the water, almost immediately losing his footing. She reaches for him with both arms, and they’re spun by the undertow, tugged toward the center. When their feet find purchase, their chests are pressed together in the heart of the pool. Being this close to him in the rushing water amplifies its enveloping warmth.

“Wow, right?” Her voice comes out whispery. 

“Wow,” Zuko affirms, not stepping back, eyes fluttering shut. The current slows then stalls, the water cooling a few degrees around them, the release of motion easing them apart. She lets out an involuntary whine, the disappointment twisting through her bitter and sharp.

“You know,” Zuko says after a moment. “I don’t think we need the spirits.”

“What?”

Zuko stretches his hands out low at his sides in the water, and she feels the flow of heat around her. “Well?” He lifts an eyebrow at her and makes a spinning motion with one of his hands.

“ _Oh._ ” She bends the springwater in an easy circle once, then again. Within a minute, she’s found the twist and speed, the perfect whirl. She grins at him. “Yeah?"

“Yeah,” he says. And it’s thrilling fun, building this together. It’s better still, how he can find the exact temperature that makes her sigh, how she can draw the water in stronger currents along the parts of his back where she’s seen him rub aches, how she can pull them close again, then closer, so he has to hold her waist to keep his balance, so she has to hook one hand behind his neck. 

She can feel his slick, bare skin against her exposed stomach. Breathing heavily, he bends his legs to sink lower in the water. She places a foot on either side of his to avoid moving apart. 

She’s above him now, and when he looks up at her, eyes wide with wonder, she lets the water go still, lets her knees buckle. When she presses down, feeling him, a needy sound escapes his lips, and the blood rushes hot through her, a prickling, overwhelming excitement. His hand wraps gently around the back of her neck, and she feels blanketed in warmth. _How can it ever be enough?_ She moves her hips again, curious, rapt, and his head lolls forward, lips soft and chapped falling to where her neck meets her shoulder, his breath hot on her skin. 

He moves his lips up her neck, across her jaw, over her chin. She wants to taste him, to lick into his mouth, to close any space between their bodies. And is it this way for him—so good, so blazing? Their eyes meet, a shared elation, a lidded darkness; her gaze finds his lips, pink and wet. And she knows. _She knows._ She will not give this up, no matter what comes. Zuko registers a shift and pulls back; some ferocity must twist her expression because then there is a loss of heat, stammered apologies; no—no. “No!” she calls. This is not where she wants to leave this fragile, overwhelming, miraculous thing. But he is scrabbling backwards, reaching for the side of the pool. “Stop!” 

“I stopped! I’m _sorry_! _”_

“ _D_ _on’t GO_!” Katara’s voice is half-whine, half-shout, pathetic, but she doesn’t care because he’s stopped backing away. She can see his chest rising and falling in quick, panicked pants. She moves closer, like they were before, her breasts nearly brushing against his chest. “Don’t go,” she whispers.

“I...I’m so sorry, Katara. I got carried away, and after what Aang did, I can’t believe I...I took advantage, ruined everything, and _Agni_ , I’m so _sorry—”_

“Zuko, Zuko, don’t be sorry.” She trails light, quick fingers along his collarbone. He closes his eyes as he struggles to take a full breath. She brings her lips close to his neck. “That’s not what I want.” 

He swallows. “What...what do you want, then?” He finally meets her gaze, and he is terrified, but totally, absolutely wide open. _Beautiful._

“More,” she whispers. _More._ He forms the word with his own lips, and his breaths come quicker, deeper.

“What do you want?” she asks him, voice quiet but steady. 

His golden eyes drag up from her mouth, brighter than she’s ever seen them. 

“You,” he says. “You.”

She closes the distance between their lips, and he responds instantly, his kisses sweet and insistent, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close. Their rhythm feels born to her, the meeting of lips over and over, pushing and pulling and learning each other’s pleasure. Her every whimper spurs his urgency; his every throaty sigh has her pressing for more, an ascending circle of desire. When she finally pulls back to catch her breath, his lips follow, and she lets out a little laugh.

His eyes blink open. His pupils wide and dark, hair mussed, and face flushed, he’s the best thing she’s ever seen. She presses her forehead to his and wraps both arms around his neck. “Hi.”

“Hi.” His voice is thick. She plays with the hair at the nape of his neck the way she’s imagined a dozen times, and his eyes shut with a _hmmm_. “This is a really good dream.”

“Oh, is this what you dream about?” 

“Katara,” he whines as she trails featherlight kisses along the edge of his scar. 

“And before you fall asleep...” She brings her lips to his good ear. “Is this what you think about alone in your bed?” 

“Katara…” She slides his earlobe between her teeth. “Agni, _yes_.” He pulls her back so he can meet her eyes. “I think about you all the time.” 

“So do I.” She places her palms flat on his chest. “Zuko, I know I’m supposed to be the hopeful one, but I’m not stupid. We could be dead in a month, all of us. And I just...I don’t want to miss the chance to share this with you, not if you want it too.”

“I want it,” he blurts instantly. He presses his face into the space where her neck meets her shoulder, and she can feel his smile on her skin. “I’ve never felt like this.”

“Me neither.” She pulls him closer, sinking into his embrace and the warmth of the water around them. “Zuko?”

“Yeah?” He lifts his chin to meet her eyes, and he looks more relaxed than she’s ever seen him.

“I know we need to talk more. About how to deal with...everything.”

“Yeah.”

“But maybe tonight we could just...be like this.”

“Like this?” he says, just barely brushing his lips against hers.

“Mmm.”

“Yeah,” he says as he pulls back to smile at her. “Let’s do that.”

Katara isn’t sure what kind of story she is forging, but she knows that this night will be part of any telling—will transform whatever happens after. For the good, she hopes, though she cannot know it. All she can be sure of is her choice, and she is. _She is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know EIP is such a big moment for these characters, and I really hope this lives up to it... Of course, they still have so much to work through.
> 
> Almost added a tag for “Canon Divergence — Lunar Cycles,” or, alternatively, “The Author Discovers Moon Facts as she Writes” for how much time I spent staring sideways at lunar charts. Yes, EIP has a full moon, but my timeline mussed that a bit. You’ll also find a slight edit in Ch. 5; the operations of this lovely hot spring have been adjusted to trigger at moonset, which would be closer to midnight at a first quarter moon. My sincerest apologies you & Yue for my moon ignorance; you can henceforth expect increased moon accuracy from this fic. 
> 
> Thank you for all of your encouraging and thoughtful words and likes; I appreciate them so much, and I hope you continue to enjoy.
> 
> 11/16 edited to add: Might be an extra few days/week before the next chapter as I've quite caught up to myself. Just a heads up!


	8. Illuminations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please accept some fluff, some tough conversations, some Zuko dutifully keeping a lid on his harsher feelings, some Suki being the absolute best as usual, and, perhaps, some advancement of the plot.

Opening his eyes mid-kiss, Zuko discovers a spray of tiny freckles across the bridge of Katara’s nose. Her hair, damp with springwater, holds an unexpected heft when he lifts it over her shoulder. Under his palms, the dip of her waist is spellbinding. A day ago, he’d felt sure he could catalogue her every lovely feature. Now that he’s allowed to touch her, he thinks she’ll never stop surprising him.

And the greatest shock—she matches his eagerness. Katara keeps scraping her fingernails over his abdominal muscles, letting out the sweetest little sighs against his lips, and pulling back to take him in with heavy, glinting eyes. 

Now that he understands the intent behind this look, he realizes that he _knows_ it—has seen it flash across her features a dozen times in fleeting, electric moments he never let himself linger on. And the idea that she isn’t just chasing some rebellious impulse, that she has wanted him, to any extent, the way he has wanted her—it sets his blood pounding. 

_Impossible_ , he would have said a month ago, a week ago, an hour ago. But here she is, lips puffy and red from his kisses, wet hair disheveled by his eager fingers, looking at him like she wants to devour him, again and again. It’s heady, too, being set free to want then take: a nibble on her lip, a taste of the soft skin under her ear.

As eagerly as she’d rolled her hips against his when they first fell upon each other in the whorl of their bending—as assertive as her kisses are now—she tends to pull back as their attentions grow fevered, as their bodies mold more fully together. He and Katara have never discussed their respective experience in this arena. And as much effort as it takes to keep from thrusting closer, he is happy to take only what she offers, to stay suspended in this haze of arousal and tenderness. Whatever keeps her flushed and smiling in his arms.

He’s not sure how much time has passed when she pulls away fully, tilting her head back to feel the crisp night air on her skin. Overhead the sky is still inky, alive with stars. The spring ripples with golden lantern light, set in motion by their bodies, casting dancing illuminations against the high stone walls. What has he done to deserve this moment, this joy? He thinks of Lu Ten—a similar night, a hopeful affection—it’s a bittersweet thought. Getting to know his cousin anew through his teenage musings has awoken a fresh sense of loss—less pain than an aching awareness of what he is missing. How much he’d like to _talk_ to him, thank him, ask for his advice. When Katara turns back to Zuko, smiling luminously, he thinks Lu Ten would be happy for him.

They remain cocooned in a warm, hungry daze on the walk back—so utterly the opposite of the harrowing walk from the theater. Katara has bent the water free from their hair and bodies in one easy, intimate motion. They’re unusually quiet, but he keeps glancing over at her, and every time, she’s smiling. “You’re holding my hand,” she informs him.

“Do you not want me to?” He teases as she nuzzles closer to him.  
  
“I just wish,” she sighs. “I wish we could…”

“Hey, hey. None of that tonight.”

“I suppose that _was_ the deal,” she concedes. “So tonight...”

“Tonight,” Zuko says, buoyed by a warm, unfamiliar confidence, “we’re just a boy and a girl on a beach vacation.”

“Just a boy and girl who snuck out late at night for a make out session in a hot spring.”

“Not a bad idea, really.”

“A _brilliant_ idea, I think,” she says shyly, and he can’t hold back a grin.

“Well, they’re very smart, these two.”

“And very humble.”  
  
“And very _sneaky_.”

The two of them manage to tiptoe into the house without issue, through the foyer and down their hall. They hold out the lanterns between them at his bedroom door. She blinks at him with wide, fire-lit eyes, an anxious twist to her brow. He probably should say goodnight, kiss her quickly and retreat alone to his room, but he’s not sure what happens when they’re no longer wrapped in this exhilarating cloud of each other. Will it dissolve the minute they separate?

“Do you want—”

“I was wondering—”

He laughs. “You first, Katara.”

“Okay,” she says, standing up a little straighter. “I’m not really…ready for tonight to be over.” 

A shiver thrills through him. “Do you want to come in, then?” 

She returns to her bedroom only to change into her pale blue sleep tunic; at the balcony door, she’s otherworldly. How many times has he admired her figure on that same threshold, draped in the low midnight light? How many hours has she spent on his bed in recent days, those careful, sparkling eyes trained on him? And how many times has he pictured this very moment? 

He pulls back the heavy covers and watches her lovely brown skin sink into the pale sheets. Even though he’s spent a good portion of the last few hours pressed against her, his heart starts pounding as he slides into bed beside her, flopping onto his back so that she can fit herself against his chest. When she’s still tucked at the far side of the bed a moment later, frowning at the window, he begins to worry. Was inviting her here a step too far? Does she suddenly regret the turn the night has taken? Has this all been a mistake for her? He props himself on an elbow to face her and tries to keep his voice calm. “Everything okay?”

“We’re in your bed.”

“Uh...yes. We are…”

“I just…we haven’t talked about…um.” She sighs, frowning slightly, squeezing her eyes closed. ”If we just hold each other and kiss...is that okay?"

He almost laughs in relief. “More than okay.” He lifts up the back of her hand to his lips. “Come here.” Slowly, her posture loosens and she snuggles up to him, planting a kiss to the side of his mouth. She presses her cheek to his skin and tucks a leg over his.

“Just...for now, I mean,” she says, voice so quiet he can barely make out the words. 

He lifts her chin so that she meets his gaze. “Whatever you want. And nothing you don’t. Okay?”

She nods. He runs his fingers through her thick, silky hair, and she sighs, closing her eyes for a moment. “Zuko?”  
  
“Yes?”

“Have you…?” 

“Have I what?”

“You know.” She’s blushing up to her ears, “gone all the way.”

“Oh.” He closes his eyes. “I have, yes.”

“With Mai?”  
  
“Yeah. Only with Mai.”

“Oh.” 

“Katara,” he says when she won’t look at him. “Does that bother you?”

“No, maybe—I don’t know. I just...what if I do everything wrong?”

“Oh, you have _nothing_ to worry about in that department.” And it’s not that he relishes her embarrassment, but it feels grounding to be the one doling out reassurance for once. “You’ve made me feel really good tonight.” 

“Good,” she whispers, smirking shyly. “I mean, I’ve done some things. Just—kissing, and some touching, really.” 

“With Aang?”

“What? _No._ ”

A scene from the play flashes to mind, a realization. “With Jet?”  
  
She looks up at him sharply, then down to where her hand rests on his chest.

Hot, bileful jealousy churns in his stomach, but he tamps it down. “Hey, you don’t need to be ashamed of that.” He and Katara have each discussed their respective acquaintance with Jet and his Freedom Fighters, but she hadn’t mentioned any romance, and he’d wondered if what he saw on stage had been yet another fancy of the Ember Island Players. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t mention it.”

Her lip curls downward. “He wasn’t a good guy. Not that he deserved to die...”

“The war messed him up, like all of us.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I guess I just didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“Not much of a risk, to be honest,” he whispers into her hair. “And you know you can tell me anything.”

“I do,” her arm squeezes around him, and he lets himself relax into the closeness; her curves fit so wonderfully against him. The fresh rain, citrus scent he associates with her skin soothes and excites him, and she can’t seem to stop running her hands up and down his shoulders and arms. “You like that?” He asks her.

She nods. “Strong.” A second after she says it, her brows pinch, as though she didn’t mean to speak aloud.

He runs a finger along her lean, muscled shoulder, down her arm to meet her palm, the path to set the lightning free. “Stronger,” he whispers. She shakes her head lightly into his chest, and she’s so pretty grinning against him that he thinks his heart might explode.

“I’m embarrassing myself,” she mumbles.

“Nope. You’re perfect.” 

She pulls back fiercely. “I’m not.”

But the shift doesn’t phase him. He raises an eyebrow at her. “That’s right. You’re terribly stubborn, and you nag, and you’ve been hurt badly, so sometimes you get really, really angry and say things you don’t mean, and—” 

“Okay, okay—”

“And to _me_ , you’re perfect.”

“Zuko…” She closes her eyes and clings closer. “How is this so easy for you?"

“ _Easy?_ Katara, I _never_ thought we’d be here. I felt like a fool…the way I wanted…even if it was just this, tonight, it would be more than I hoped.”

“I don’t want just tonight.”

“ _Good_.” He’s unable to keep the intensity out of his voice.

“Good.” Her eyelashes flutter shut against his skin. And part of him never wants to fall asleep, but her slowing breaths on his chest are their own, soothing tide—once more, he lets her pull him under.

* * *

He can still feel Katara’s warm weight against him when dawn stirs his inner flame, and he tries to keep his breathing even and still. When she blinks up sleepily at him moments later, her deep sea eyes hazy with sleep, yet shy with desire, the joy breaks over him anew. _Not a dream, then._

Pulling away from her lips to start the day feels nearly impossible. “Do you want to go through the bookshelves this afternoon?” She asks him.

“Of course.” 

Neither of them mention the other conversation they need to have. And the knot twists tighter in his chest as he spots Aang in the courtyard. The Avatar is seated against the fountain, shoulders hunched, but he brightens immediately when he spots his instructor, which only deepens Zuko’s unease. _Driving a wedge between the Avatar and his waterbender, Zuzu? Couldn’t have planned it better myself._

“Sifu!” Aang climbs to his feet and bows to him. “Do you think we could jump right to sparring today? I woke up early to meditate.”

“Yeah, sure, just give me a few minutes to do my breathing exercises.” 

“Slept in again?” Aang asks as he runs through his stretches.

Zuko opts for a half truth and tries to keep his tone neutral. “I had a bit of trouble getting to bed after last night.”  
  
“I hear you.” Aang’s shoulders sag a little. “I’ll say one thing for that horrible play, though. It _definitely_ made me want to strengthen my firebending.” Since joining their group, Zuko has come to admire Aang’s ability to find a positive spin for any setback. And today, Aang’s firebending impresses him, too.

The Avatar’s attacks are swiftly articulated, fiercely punctuated. Though his stance is grounded and sure, Aang dodges and recalibrates quickly when Zuko tries to disrupt his root with low-spun flames and practiced kicks. Zuko picks up the aggression, and Aang seems to be everywhere at once—a familiar experience when fighting the Avatar, but now Aang is punching with flame. 

As Zuko yields their second match, panting against stone, he thinks he understands Katara’s point from weeks ago. Now that he has a sounder grasp of fire, Aang’s airbending instincts make him a wily and dangerous opponent, even with his newest element. After another round, though Zuko has bested Aang twice out of three, the firebender finds himself depleted, while Aang seems more keyed up than before, a boundless, anxious sort of energy. Zuko rests against a column as Aang spins on an air scooter in front of him. 

“Your firebending is getting really strong.”

“Yeah, well, it’ll need to be even stronger to face your father. We saw that.”

“Aang,” Zuko’s voice turns serious. “Last night’s play...that’s just how the Fire Nation wants to see us. You know that, right?”

“Well, it got some things right,” Aang says, landing back on his feet.

Zuko hesitates. “But a lot of things were totally made up.”

“Like the part about you and Katara in Ba Sing Se?” Aang says with a wry grin. Zuko has never been particularly good at reading the Avatar in moments like this. Is Aang trying to apologize for his obvious tantrum? Does he suspect something? Zuko knows Aang is capable of turning on his bottomless well of good cheer to advance his agenda or fish for information, but it’s not a move he tends to pull on his friends.

“Yeah,” Zuko agrees, carefully. “It _definitely_ didn’t go like that.” Aang nods almost imperceptibly, and Zuko tries to think of a change of subject, some way to excuse himself, hunger maybe. He stands, preparing to make an exit. 

“Wait, Zuko.”

Aang rarely uses his given name. “Yes?”

“I...could use some advice again.”

He curses under his breath before he turns and nods.

“Let’s say there’s this girl, and you’re really good friends.” 

“Okay...” Why Aang is so invested in these hypotheticals that obscure nothing, Zuko isn’t sure.

“So you really like her, and you thought she really liked you, too. And you’ve kissed before, and you’re really close, so you thought...you thought you’d be together, you know?” Aang takes a big breath. “But lately, she seems kind of distant. And you accidentally upset her...because you did something, well, something she didn’t like. And you want to apologize, but you also don’t want to ruin any chance that she’ll ever like you back.”

How had Zuko let himself end up in this situation again? And this time it’s worse; any answer he can think of feels like some sort of betrayal—of his fresh, fragile friendship with the Avatar, of Katara’s feelings, of what they have just begun to share. He’d come here to help this boy save the world after a year of terrorizing him, and here he is, hurting him again, even if the Avatar doesn’t know it. _Nephew, you do not control the gates to that young woman’s heart. You only waited patiently to be invited through._

He takes a deep breath and tries to live fully within the hypothetical. “Well, I guess I’d give her a little time, and try to see how she reacts when I’m around her,” he says. “And when she seems calm, I would apologize for what I did. Or I’d try. I’m not great at apologizing.” _Really, dum dum? You apologized to the waterbender at least five times yesterday._

“That’s something we have in common,” Aang says, which surprises him. Aang must catch Zuko’s curious expression because the Avatar shrugs. “Hey, everyone has their strengths. I’m just better at granting forgiveness than asking for it.” 

Zuko _really_ hopes this remains true, that after everything he’s put Aang through, acting on his feelings for Katara isn’t the choice that can’t be forgiven.

“I also think,” Zuko adds, testing the waters. “You can’t expect an apology is going to make a girl like you.” He wants to add on, _and you have bigger things to worry about right now,_ but considering that he just gave up half a night of sleep to shower affection on the woman they both desire, he holds his tongue.

“Yeah,” Aang says glumly. “That’s what I was afraid of.” 

* * *

Heading in for his afternoon nap, Zuko is surprised to glimpse Katara through her open bedroom door. At this hour, she’s usually waterbending with Aang on the beach. Instead, she sits on her bed in Water Tribe blues, afternoon sun lifting bronze highlights from her hair, books and scrolls piled up around her. Spirits, she’s lovely. She catches him staring and smiles. He steps inside the room, closing the door behind him.

“Found anything?”  
  
“Not yet,” she says as she clears off a space next to her. “To be honest, I’m not even sure what to look for.”

“Yeah.” He takes a seat and begins examining the various groups of texts around him. “I mean, notes tucked anywhere, obviously.”  
  
“Right, none of those yet,” she says. “I’ve made a pile of books that seem like they were probably banned, so you could start looking through those while I sort. If you want to, I mean. I know you usually rest in the afternoon.”  
  
“No, I’d rather dig in.” He scans a stack of Water Tribe Chronicles and Parables, piled atop a full collection of Earth Kingdom Spirit Tales. “What are these?” He says, pointing to a set of scrolls, wrapped in maroon ribbons, piled to the side of the foreign texts. 

“I’m not sure, but they look like some sort of military documentation. I couldn’t really make heads or tails of the one I read, but maybe you can.”

He starts with the Water Tribe histories—the books themselves look over a hundred years old, tracking the splintering of North and South, the rise of Southern bending style, the origin stories of the culture’s major festivals, none of which he knows a thing about. And he wants to; if he’s ultimately headed back to Caldera, he wants to understand as much about the other nations as he can, wants to learn about _her_ culture specifically. But he sees nothing in these books that connects to the contents of Lu Ten’s journals. Similarly, the Earth Kingdom myths are almost entirely unfamiliar. Intriguing, but nowhere on the pages he flips through does he see any of the signs he’s looking for—scrawled notes or familiar motifs.  
  
“And these are all the banned texts you’ve found so far?”  
  
She nods. “Well, except for the Air Nomad books I brought to Aang…”

“Right…they’re in his room?”

“I’m not ready to talk to him, Zuko,” she cuts in firmly.

“Okay, okay.” He holds his hands up.

“You think that’s wrong.”

“No. I just…” He sighs. “This sucks.”

“Well, sorry for _kissing_ you.”

“Hey,” he pushes the books between them backward and scoots closer to her. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Zuko takes her cool hand inside his larger one, pulling both onto his lap. He feels her relax just a bit as he strokes her palm with his index finger. When he lifts his other hand to cup her jaw, she melts into his touch. “I can’t bring myself to feel bad about this, Katara,” he says when she finally meets his gaze. “I don’t want to.” 

“Good,” she whispers, not exactly an echo of his sentiment, but sincere. “Is he okay?” 

Zuko shrugs. “His firebending was really strong today. But he’s not exactly at his most…” Zuko makes a spinny gesture with his hands, “bouncy, or whatever.” He pauses. “You’re skipping your lesson?”  
  
Katara nods. “I told Toph to take him for a double. I just...I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Do you want to talk through it?”

Katara slowly shakes her head. “I don’t think so, no. I sort of feel like I have to figure out what to say on my own. Or…maybe just that it shouldn’t be something we work out together, behind his back. Do you know what I mean?”

 _Not exactly._ Zuko has never found a better way of working out tough feelings than talking things through between the two of them. “Whatever you need,” he says instead. “Just give me a heads up before you tell him about us, I guess.”

When she doesn’t respond or meet his eye, Zuko frowns. “Katara?”

“I’m not sure...” She takes a breath. “I’m not sure that we should tell him.”

“Oh.” He tries to keep the hurt out of his voice.

“Zuko, I don’t want to keep this a secret.” She closes her fingers around his palm, and he can see affection swirling with nerves when she looks at him. “It’s the last thing I want, really. But you didn’t see how upset Aang was last night. I don’t want to do anything that puts his mission at risk. What he has to do, it’s too important.”  
  
“So you’re going to, what, tell him to check in after the war? Pretend to date him in front of all our friends, then drag me into dark corners when no one’s looking?”  
  
“Obviously not!” Her expression pinches. “Zuko, I would never do that...not to any of us.”

“Sorry, that wasn’t fair of me.” Zuko massages his forehead. “It’s just...you’re going to have to let him down, Katara.”  
  
“I...yes. I know that.” She tugs on a strand of her hair. “I just haven’t figured out how.”

Zuko tries to keep a lid on the fear her hesitation stirs in him. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk about it, so I’ll drop it after this, but I just…I think, in this case, it’s possible that by trying so hard to protect his feelings, you’re doing more harm than good.”  
  
He sees the frustration flash in Katara’s eyes, and he’s ready for it: _Are you saying I’m harming my best friend? You could never understand what Aang and I share._ Instead, she begins to nod. “I’ve been protecting Aang’s feelings since we met. It feels...important. Like it’s part of my job. And I just...I hate that I’m going to be the one that’s hurting him.”

“I know.” Zuko looks down at his hands. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean for—” 

“Don’t, Zuko. This isn’t...really about you.” Katara’s voice is quiet, but firm. “Maybe my feelings for you helped me realize certain things sooner, but I think I was always going to need to have this conversation with Aang. And the way he’s been acting, I think it was always going to have to happen before we face Ozai.” She squeezes his arm gently. “I promise I _will_ figure it out. I just think...us.” She gestures between them. “Right now, it might be too much at once. I need to see how it goes. Can you trust me to do that?”

“Of course,” he says quickly, pulling her close to him. “Always.” 

“Thank you,” she says into his shoulder.

“Does that mean we don’t tell the others?”

Katara lets out a dry little laugh. “Well, Toph _definitely_ already knows.”  
  
Zuko scrubs a hand over his face. “Of course she does.” 

“I don’t think she’s going to do anything about it other than torture us, though, if today was anything to go by. So, you know, heads up about that.”

“Used to it,” Zuko mutters, and when Katara pins him with a curious look, he sighs. “She’s been teasing me about my feelings for you for weeks.”

The admission is worth it for the way she blushes. “For me, that was Suki.” Katara pushes her hair off her face. “She’s definitely going to figure it out, by the way, if she hasn’t already.” 

“Great,” Zuko winces.

“What? She’s the one who’s been encouraging me to go for it, actually.”

“Really? I’ve never gotten the impression that Suki is my biggest fan.”

“She’s coming around,” Katara says, ruffling his hair. “And she’s a good friend.”

“So what, then? We’re just going to try to keep this hidden from Aang and your brother?”

“Well it _really_ sucks when you say it like that.”

“I know.”

“I think, for now, we just…we keep things private. And we see how it goes from there.”

“I can do that,” he says. “And Katara?”  
  
“Yeah?” 

“I’m sorry it’s all so complicated, but um...” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m really happy.”

“Me too, Zuko.” He can feel his lips mirroring the smile that breaks out across her face, and the kiss she places on his mouth is so gentle it makes him ache. He snakes a hand around her and slowly tilts her backward, following her down.

“Ow!” Katara jolts up, rubbing her back where it’s been jabbed by the sharp corner of a book.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s good. We can’t let this distract us,” Katara tells him seriously. “Not _all_ the time anyway.” She begins to reassemble the pile of books they knocked over. 

“You know,” he says, trying to refocus. “I doubt those Air Nomad texts have anything we’re looking for in them—if Lu Ten was using them as a hiding place for the diaries, I mean.”

“That’s a good point.”

“The other thing I was thinking about was the firebending illustrations Lu Ten described, though I don’t really know what those would look like.”

They both dig into a stack of Myths and Tales, bound in luxurious maroon and black. But Zuko recognizes the colorful ink, brush and gold foil technique of the illuminations—it’s the standard court style. He shakes his head as he pages through the last of the volumes. 

“Wait,” Katara says, “I have an idea.” She walks over to her desk, where a slim, unbound folio sits alone by a candle, and begins flipping through its contents. He climbs to his feet and walks up behind her to peer over her shoulder. Spread before her is a short, illuminated set of pages about the Painted Lady—of course Katara had pulled it aside. The art style is definitely different from the books they’d been examining—no colors, no gold, just crisp, elegant lines of deepest black, texture shaded with burnished browns.

“Do you think this could have been done with fire?” Katara asks him. 

“It’s possible.” Zuko says, the murky outline of a memory taunting him. He steps to Katara’s side to search her desk. “Do you mind if I use this?” He holds a blank page between them.

“By all means.”

Zuko presses his forefinger and thumb together, the way Lu Ten described Ayana’s technique, but the fire that emerges is far too harsh—it quickly singes giant holes in the page. Still, the colors are right: deep black, edges of golden brown, which Katara notes excitedly.

“What’s wrong?” She asks when he doesn’t respond.

“It’s just...I’ve seen this type of drawing before.” She waits for him to continue. “Katara, who’s staying in the far east corner room, overlooking the inlet?”

“Suki, I think.” 

“Which means Sokka too, most nights, I guess.”

“Ugh, thanks for that.” Katara wrinkles her nose adorably. “Why did you want to know?”  
  
“That was my mother’s room,” Zuko says, lifting the folio between them. “I think there’s more where this came from.” 

* * *

He is not a fan of Katara's plan, which involves her distracting Sokka in the kitchen as he asks Suki to show him to her bedroom’s shelves. He’d reminded Katara this was his family’s property, and suggested simply asking them to clear out of the room for a couple hours—this was met with a predictable eye roll. 

_You’re_ really _so scared of Suki that you’re going to play the “it’s my family property” card?_

Yes, actually. There’s no denying it now that he and the Kyoshi Warrior are alone in his mother’s room, a space he hasn’t entered for a decade. Suki sits cross-legged atop her dresser, watching as he kneels on the ground, scanning the lower shelves. He’s noticed that she likes to perch atop the highest surface in any space—a habit that does very little to contradict his general sense that she is a bird of prey, strong, elegant and ready to swoop at any sign of vulnerability. 

“You know, there’s no need to stick around and supervise.” He turns around to meet her vigilant gaze. “I’ll be in and out and I won’t touch your stuff.”

Suki shrugs. “Nowhere else I need to be.” 

“Suit yourself, then.”

“So you’re looking for a particular set of your mother’s books?”

“Yes.”

“Feeling nostalgic?”

“Something like that.”

“Wanna describe them to me? I’ve been reading some in the afternoons.”

His head snaps up. “You have?” The idea of her, or anyone, running their hands over his mother’s books makes his chest constrict.

“Chill out, your majesty.” She hops to her feet. “I’m always careful.” 

He calms his breathing; he’d invited the Avatar’s group to live in a house, not a museum. “I’m looking for more like this one.” He hands Suki the Painted Lady folio and watches her examine it with exaggerated caution.

“Katara must have liked this,” Suki says.

“She did, yes.”

“Is that what this is about? You want to surprise her with some books she’ll like?”

Zuko shrugs. There are worse excuses. 

“Man, you must have it bad.”

Katara had encouraged him to tell Suki some of the truth. _We’re going to have to bring her in at some point, anyway,_ Katara had reasoned. _I’m not going to let you go investigating on your own, and someone needs to know what we’re up to. Who better than a warrior trained in stealth and strategy?_ It’s not like he thinks Suki would betray them or give away their secret, but he’d prefer to let Katara manage substantive interactions with the warrior. 

“I guess I do have it bad,” he says, hoping to forestall further questions. 

“Aha!” Suddenly Suki’s at his side, towering above him, hands on her hips, eyes sharp. “I _knew_ you two were up to something.” 

“What?” Zuko inches backward, away from her feet.

“Calm down, hotman. I’m not trying to mess up whatever you and Katara have got going on.” She flashes him a triumphant smile. “But that was a rookie mistake. Now I know you’re covering something up, _and_ that she finally made a move.” 

Zuko furiously rubs the hair over his forehead, trying to hide his flushing cheeks. He can’t think of a single thing to say that won’t further expose himself to his apparently omniscient housemate. “Can you help me find these books are not?”

“Sure,” Suki says. “There’s another collection in the bedside cabinet. I think there are a few that look like the one you showed me.” 

Suki uncovers three more folios like the one Katara had found, and two larger books, packed with flame-rendered illustrations. She only examines them cursorily before piling them into Zuko’s arms and walking him to the door.

“The two of you _are_ going to fill me in on what’s going on. You know that, right?”

“Katara wants to.”  
  
“Good girl.” Suki smiles. “And you do what she wants.”

He doesn’t deny it. “I can see how you would be...an asset.”

“Not as dumb as you look, then.” 

He rolls his eyes at this, earning another smug smile from the warrior. “Suki, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How did you figure all that out from what I said?”

“Easy, really.” She makes a show of examining the back of her nails. “Obviously you know that Katara’s my friend. You’d never go admitting anything to me unless _she_ already knew about your feelings—so clearly you’ve had some sort of breakthrough there. And you guys seem to be keeping things quiet for now—her choice, right, given the whole Avatar mess?—So if you were willing to use that line of defense, it must be because there’s something much juicier you’re covering up.”

“That’s...yeah.” Zuko shakes his head. “Not bad, Suki.”

“So I’ve been told.” 

“One more question,” he says, readying to leave.  
  
“You got it.” 

“Why did you assume Katara made the first move?”

“Oh, Flameo.” Suki pats his shoulder. “You crack me up.”

* * *

Katara’s waiting in his bed when he returns to his room, already changed into her nightwear. Her presence eases an anxiety he didn’t know he’d been carrying, and she brightens when he holds out the books, scrabbling to her feet to meet him. “Fantastic!”

“Suki knows we’re up to something.” Zuko places the pile onto his desk.

“You don’t seem so upset about that.” 

“You’re probably right that she’d be helpful.”

“I usually am.” 

“You were also right about her figuring us out, by the way.” 

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” Katara sounds unbothered. “Now hand me the books.” 

The new texts are highly ornate; the elegant Painted Lady folio appears simple by comparison. It turns out that the larger books are an old two volume set of _Love Amongst the Dragons_. As he pages through, he is overcome by a sense of familiarity, the impression of his mother holding him in one arm, this text tucked in the other. The memory is fuzzy—clearly from early childhood. The edition that jumps to mind when he thinks of the story is the one he’d leafed through at the palace, mere months ago—colorful illuminations in the court style. Two of the folios are spirit tales. But the third is newer looking—a different tone of paper, closer to the shade of the Painted Lady booklet. “The Life and Times of Avatar Roku,” Katara reads aloud.

As they scan through, discomfort settles in Zuko’s stomach. He hasn’t had much time to consider Uncle’s revelation about his heritage, the only words he spoke during Zuko’s many visits to his cell. Seeing Roku’s life rendered on paper, Zuko feels compelled to examine his great-grandfather’s story anew, but he also dreads it.

“Zuko.” Katara snaps her fingers in front of his face. “You in there?”

“Sorry, what’d you say?”

“I was asking if you knew that Avatar Roku’s wife moved to Ember Island after he died.”

“No,” Zuko says slowly. “I didn’t know that,”

“It says here that Ta Min lived out the rest of her life on her father’s lands, on the other side of town. Then, look at this.” Katara points to the last page of the folio. “There’s a little burned shape next to the residence’s location. Maybe some sort of flower?”

“A rhododendron,” Zuko whispers, his voice failing him. “Lu Ten described Ayana bending one in the journals.”

“ _Spirits_ , Zuko,” Katara says excitedly. “This is what we’ve been looking for, then, isn’t it? We need to go find Ta Min’s estate.”

“Yeah,” he says, and swallows. 

“You...don’t seem excited about this.”

“It’s not that,” Zuko says. “But I need to tell you something.”

He takes a seat on the bed and gestures for her to follow. When she does, he tucks her close to him. The ability to seek out her fortifying embrace when he needs a little extra strength is an unexpected, wonderful benefit to their new arrangement. He lays them back on the pillow, and positions himself so he can watch her reactions. 

He tells her everything—what Uncle told him about his mother’s lineage, how he’d never known, too focused on his royal bloodline to ask much about her family—how Avatar Roku was rarely mentioned around the palace. She listens attentively as she always does, interrupting with curiosity only once or twice. “What I still don’t understand is what’s going on with this fire...art...stuff, and how it’s connected to Avatar Roku...and to my mother.”

“Do you think this could help you find her?” Katara asks gently. He’d shared his father’s cruel revelation of his mother’s uncertain fate during one of their earliest nights on Ember Island. It had been a highly emotional conversation for him, and ever since, Katara—in that unspoken, thoughtful way of hers—has been careful not to bring his mother up until he does.

“The thought has crossed my mind, of course.”

“Well,” Katara says, smoothing a hand across his chest. “Maybe we’ll find something at the estate.”

“Yeah,” he says, exhaustion closing in. “We can figure it out tomorrow.”

“Hey, Zuko?”

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner, about Roku?”

“Honestly, I haven’t really thought about it. There’s been so much going on. And I’m so tired of my baggage taking up so much of our time. Sometimes i feel like I’m sucking all the air out of the room.”

“That’s not how I see it.”

“I just feel like we’re always talking about some dramatic nonsense with my family.”

“Well, your family _did_ start the war we’re trying to end…But you remember how we first became friends? It’s because you bothered to help me work through what _I’ve_ been through. Since we’ve gotten close, I’ve never felt like things are uneven between us.”

“You’d tell me if that changed?”

“I would,” she says seriously. “And you know, part of the reason I’m so interested in investigating all this is because Ayana’s group seemed to have information about the Southern raids. So, that’s my stuff. You know?”

“I want to know about that, too.” Zuko curls a strand of her hair around his fingers. “I was glad to find you here. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to stay again.”

“Well, my bed isn’t really an option at the moment.”

“Note to self, keep Katara’s bed piled with books.”

“You know that’s not really why I came, though.” She runs her fingers along one of the tendons of his neck.

“Oh?” his voice comes out a little breathy.

“Look, Zuko, I don’t know the right way to do this. I know it’s not normal to jump straight to...sharing a bed, and I know this is all...intense.” She looks at him through her lashes, blushing lightly.

He plants a kiss on her forehead. “Everything about our lives is intense, Katara. That’s kind of what we signed up for. This, at least, is the good kind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably could have also called this chapter: A Little More Conversation, A Little Less Action.
> 
> Or: There Are Never Enough Words of Affirmation.
> 
> Or: Did you know that you've read 40,000 words of this Zutara fic just so that you could watch Suki affably antagonize Zuko? 
> 
> It felt important to me that we get to see some of that first joyful rush through Zuko’s eyes—he’s certainly been through enough. It felt like ZK had a little more to figure out before the detective work commences in full.
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you for your kudos, bookmarks and kind, thoughtful words. I got a little blocked on this go-round and the encouragement is such a boost. Going to try to keep on schedule, but since this one was late that may look more like Sunday. TBD! Hope you're all staying safe out there. <3


	9. Trust Exercises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pamphlets, parables and promises ahead.

The first time she donned Zuko’s spare set of stealth robes, Katara had been too fixated on finding her mother’s killer to waste thoughts on her wardrobe. As she pulls his dark gear over her head for the second time, the act feels intimate, draping herself in fabric he once pulled taut across his body, that smells faintly of his skin. When she finds Zuko waiting in the hallway, clad in identical black, his amber eyes brighter for the contrast, she pulls him clumsily against her, breathing him in fully.

“Hello to you, too,” he says against her forehead.

“Sorry.” She looks up at him sheepishly. “You look good in these.”

“So do you.” He smiles, fingers softly tugging the cowl at her neck. “I like seeing you in my clothes.” She tilts up to find his lips with hers, pressing him gently against his door. “ _Now_ who’s letting this distract us?” he rasps when he pulls back. For all his bumbling with words, Zuko has discovered just how to use his voice to make her blush. 

Holding lanterns out before them, they follow the same stony path they took to the theater two nights prior, that launched their journey to the hot springs. According to the booklet they’d found, the familial lands of Roku’s widow lie inland, a mile or so past the market square. That afternoon, they’d plotted the most covert, protected course, combining Zuko’s knowledge of the hillside paths with Suki’s defensive eye. The Kyoshi Warrior would have preferred to join them tonight, but Zuko had gruffly shut that down. “It’s just a scouting mission. We mostly need you in the loop on our location in case we’re not back by dawn.” 

“You could have been nicer to Suki about that, you know,” Katara says as she follows him up a steeper cliffside trail.  
  
“She was trying to insert herself.”

“She was _trying_ to get away for the night.” 

“What?” 

“You haven’t noticed Suki basically ignoring my brother for the last two days?” Katara asks even though she knows this is exactly the sort of detail Zuko tends to overlook. He’s not bad at reading between the lines in direct interactions, or when he’s looking for specific information, but peripheral emotional dynamics usually fall beneath his notice.

“What are you talking about?” 

“I asked first.”

“Actually, I did.” He turns back to smirk at her. “I believe I said, ‘ _What_?’”

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “He was a real jerk to her at the theater.” 

“Must have missed that.” Zuko has reached the top of the rock scramble, and pauses to hold their quickly sketched map to his lantern’s light.

“Well, there was enough else going on,” she says as she catches up to him. 

“But they’re going to be okay?” Zuko looks up for her response, and she’s surprised to note genuine concern in the lift of his brow.

“I think so. When he actually gets it together to ask her what’s wrong,” Katara says. “Or when she works up the courage to talk to him.”

“Hard to imagine Suki afraid of speaking her mind.” 

“Speaking her heart, in this case. And it can be hard to tell people you care about things they don’t want to hear.” 

“So you’ve said.” His lip twists, and she frowns at the ground. She can’t really blame Zuko for his irritation. At their afternoon planning session, Suki and Zuko had both been disappointed to hear she was still avoiding Aang. But she’s not sure what else to say. Zuko won’t admit it outright, but she suspects his eagerness for her to talk to Aang stems from fear that she’s going to change her mind and run into the Avatar’s arms—an anxiety she can’t seem to soothe away with words or kisses.

But her worries, true to form, are just as stubborn. She sells Aang's character short by fearing he will abandon his duty just because of a romantic setback; Zuko is right about this. But the mere possibility sends her thoughts in unbearable spirals. And there are other fears that she doesn’t know how to express, about what she might lose.

When she looks up, Zuko is watching her with a softer expression. “A path to the back of the estate should be just around this bluff.”

Though palm trees thrive by Ember Island’s beachside residences, the island’s interior generally lacks tree cover, so Katara is surprised to find a dense grove of sandalwood trees as they wind around to the back of the property marked on their map. No lamplight peeks through the vegetation to indicate the direction of the estate, though she identifies a narrow path to their left. 

Zuko lowers the light in Katara’s lantern and extinguishes his own entirely. He takes her hand as they continue on, and she is once again astounded how even small, practical touches like this can light a low fire in her belly. They walk five minutes through the woods before they spy a circular fenced enclosure and a small wooden structure. An ostrich horse stable, Zuko thinks, but it’s empty. 

Barely thirty paces past that, they catch their first glimpse of the house, a shadowed, hulking structure in her lantern’s light. Regal, she realizes as they draw near. Katara’s not sure why she’d expected something different than the grand Ember Island resort style, but as they examine the perimeter, she recognizes the familiar red-tiled roofing and neat golden accents. This home is unique among similar residences only for its location—far from the beach, shrouded by forest. 

As they circle the exterior of the house, she and Zuko sidestep thick cobwebs, creeping between overgrown shrubs whose glossy leaves reflect her lantern’s flame like dozens of little eyes. They take turns peeking carefully through open windows; in the low light, every room they investigate appears abandoned, contents caked by pale dust.

“I know Suki suggested observing the exterior and trying to get a sense of who’s inside then coming back with a more thorough plan,” Katara says. “But it really seems like no one’s been here in a long time.”

“So you think we should go in?”  
  
“If the house is empty, I don’t see why not.”

“As long as we tell Suki it was _your_ idea.”

They decide to enter through the back, a small, ornate, metal door she can see Zuko sizing up. “No need to do anything rash,” she tells him. It’s easy enough to bend water from her skein to freeze into the lock—with a few tiny adjustments along the edges and some careful jostling they’re in. 

Zuko watches her melt the makeshift key and pull its water back into her supply. “Once again, I’m very glad we’re on the same team now.” 

“You know what they say about breaking and entering,” she whispers as they step inside “It’s good to have a waterbender on hand.”

The first room they encounter appears to have once been servant quarters. As expected, its small, unadorned beds are covered in a heavy mat of dust. They make their way into a dark, narrow hallway and find a series of shut doors. Huddling close to whisper, they decide to examine only open spaces, at least at first, on the off-chance one of the closed rooms houses a sleeping person.

When they emerge in the foyer, Katara’s lantern illuminates a sitting room that must have once been the height of style. Now it is strewn with papers, its furnishing arrayed indelicately. Plush, antique settees, intricately carved mahogany tables and chairs, all as fine as those at the royal residence, are pushed into a tight, awkward circle at the center of the room. Instead of gold-threaded tapestries with the national emblem, the walls feature a dozen floor-to-ceiling panels of large-scale drawings. 

Zuko rekindles his lantern, spotlighting what she had already suspected—the rich black lines and ashy brown shadows of the wall decor are the same they saw within his mother’s books. Yet here, the artwork is supplemented with fine pigments. Trees sprout emerald foliage, lacquered azure deepens the seas, sun the color of Zuko’s eyes brightens almost every scene.

“Are these illustrations from the Myths and Tales?”

“You don’t recognize them?”

Katara looks closer and catches her oversight immediately—some of the images could have been based directly from the booklet that led them here. Each panel explores a chapter from Avatar Roku’s life—his training, his courtship, his work for balance.

“The Fire Lord isn’t anywhere,” Katara notices.

“Well, I can’t imagine Ta Min would have wanted Sozin’s face in her home after the way he betrayed Roku. Assuming this was all hers, that is.”

Katara looks over a scene of the Avatar and his wife in front of their volcano-side home. “Your great-grandfathers. Your great-grandmother.”

“My family’s been a mess for a long time, I guess.”

“Aang has only ever said kind words about Avatar Roku,” she tells Zuko. “You should really talk to him about your mother’s family, you know.”  
  
“Oh, _I_ should talk to Aang.”

“I _will_ talk to him,” she says quietly.

“I know.” He sounds a little regretful. 

She steps to his side, running a finger gently over a finely rendered depiction of Roku firebending alone in a royal courtyard. “So, we’re thinking the Avatar’s widow commissioned a fire artist to decorate her walls with her husband’s life story, minus his best friend?”

“Unless her family had it made, or she created it herself. Or it could have been done after she passed. I mean she’s probably been dead for eighty years, at least.”

“Was she a bender?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really know anything about her, about them. I wish I had asked Mother anything about her family.”

“Ta Min was her grandmother, right? Do you think she ever visited this place during your summers here?”  
  
“If she did, she didn’t bring me,” Zuko says quietly. “There’s so much I don’t know, that I don’t understand. Why didn’t Mother want Lu Ten talking about this kind of bending, when her family clearly admired it? And she kept at least some of it, too.” 

“I also don’t understand how Ayana is connected, and her group,” Katara says. “To be honest, part of me hoped we’d find her camped out here or something. Silly, I guess.” She examines one of the early panels—Avatar Roku soaring on a glider, a smiling Air Nomad at his side. Each line and shadow on their robes conveys joy, motion, lightness—all rendered intricately by flame. “I feel like we just stumbled into more questions.”

Zuko doesn’t respond, too wrapped up in his own perusal of the artwork. He does this sometimes when he’s overwhelmed—hyper-focuses on small details. As she makes her way across the room, she notices one of the sections is a slightly different shade of wood than the rest. On a curious impulse, Katara raps on it quietly with her knuckles, then the panel next to it. “Hey, Zuko! This one seems to be made of something else. Stone, maybe?” 

Zuko strides over to investigate for himself. “Looks like stone, yeah, carved to look like wood grain.”

“Incredible.” She examines the detail work up close. “And these black lines are definitely painted.”

The panel before them displays Roku’s wedding to Ta Min, a feast in a grand palace hall, the ceiling strung wall-to-wall with lanterns, a room packed with finely dressed figures and plated delicacies. 

“Look at this.” Zuko points to a display of flowers toward the middle of the painting—it’s a spray of rhododendrons.

As she looks closer, she notices a deeper black in the center of the most prominent flower. “Zuko,” she says, trying to keep her voice calm. “What if this was a door?”

“What?” 

“Well, you know how at a fire sage temple, there are entryways that can only be opened by a certain type of fire blast?”

“Obviously I know that, but how do you?”

“You don’t remember our little run-in at Crescent Island? I’m wounded.” 

Zuko grunts lightly. He hates when she points out his past antagonism, but it feels necessary—that they not submerge their uglier history only for it to be dredged up later, but instead let it be carried backward by time’s steady current. 

She points to the largest rhododendron, running her finger over its center, and she’s right; there’s a tiny opening. “The bending style you tried last night, the one Ayana described, it’s done with a really fine flame, right? What if this operated on the same principle?”

Zuko squints at the flower’s heart. “It’s hard to see, but there are scorch marks here.” He looks back up at her. “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

His first flame is far too harsh—the second so delicate it wisps into smoke immediately. She can already tell he’s going to get frustrated, so she walks to one of the elegant chairs shoved to the middle of the room, and picks up one of the pamphlets scattered across it. As soon as she begins to scan its exterior, her knees fold, and she sits, coughing when she displaces a cloud of heavy dust.

The cover reads: _A Second Genocide?_ The bottom of the page depicts a destroyed igloo, its snow-packed bricks scattered, contents aflame.

Katara traces her fingers along a pattern of smudgy dots strewn around the lettering. The marks would look like errors, she thinks, to an eye not trained to scan white skies for black snow. She turns the page with shaking hands. 

> _For five decades, we have been told of violent clashes at the South Pole. A tragic story has been painted by the National Record: An inferior culture implodes as savages of competing tribes jockey for limited natural resources._
> 
> _We have been told our men were dispatched to remove benders from the Water Tribes of the South to avoid utter catastrophe, so that these peoples would not die out by their own hand, so they might ultimately be led by our light and brought technology and trade from our illustrious shores._
> 
> _But the reality is far different, according to two anonymous sources from within the Southern Raiders._
> 
> _Not only are our men instructed to capture or kill waterbenders, they also have free reign to destroy life and property in order to gain information that aids their search. And as much leeway as our men are given, they take yet more. The atrocities of war are as old as mankind: violent acts toward women, the orphaning of children, the plunder of food supplies. But in a climate so unforgiving, such pillaging is deadly. Wounding one hunter can strain a whole struggling village. Stealing a store of winter grain and dried meat during the long night can starve hundreds._
> 
> _Though not delivered in single comet-fueled blasts, what our men have done at the South Pole is no less heinous than the horrors perpetrated at the Air Temples ninety years ago—and on track to be just as devastating. The Fire Nation has, over the course of several decades, systematically decimated yet another thriving culture and people. If our Visionary Fire Lord Sozin’s legacy was the eradication of the peace-loving Air Nomads, our Orderly Fire Lord Azulon’s legacy is a second genocide, less instantaneous, though no less pernicious: the destruction of the tenacious tribes of the South._
> 
> _Can our power-warped leader be stopped before life on the South Pole ceases entirely?_

On the back of the pamphlet, another finely rendered rhododendron spreads its even, perfect petals. Katara reads the pages again, holding her breath. She picks up paper after paper around her to find they all repeat the same harrowing lines. A harsh curse and a burst of violent flame from the corner of her eye startle her backward, set her heart pounding in her throat. 

“I just can’t get this!” Zuko’s voice cuts through her haze of fear; he’s putting out a fire on his sleeve. She tries to calm herself, but terror must still be plain on her face; she can tell by the way his expression instantly collapses in concern when he looks at her. 

“I’m so sorry.” He rushes to her side, dislodging yet more dust, its particles suspended between their faces like the ash that rained the very first time she saw him. _No_ , no, no. She shakes her head. “Katara, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

His hand extends halfway to her shoulder before pausing and falling into his lap. “It’s not you,” she says quietly. She hands him a pamphlet and tries to roll the sticky layer of grime off her palms. His breathing catches as he reads, and when he finally meets her eyes, he looks ruined. “It was just bad timing, that’s all,” she says lamely.

“That’s _not_ all, Katara.”

“Zuko,” she says, mastering her voice. “I don’t want to talk about this here.” Not in this room full of mysteries, not with the ghosts of a precarious peace staring down at them, not in yet another elegantly appointed house owned by Zuko’s regal ancestors, where the idea that her people aren't savages is delivered as a revelation.

She doesn’t want to talk on the way back either, pamphlets crumpled in her white-knuckled grip. Zuko walks a half step behind her, and she knows he won’t push her, but she almost wishes he would, so she could begin to dislodge what’s knotting in her chest. She’d wanted more information on what the Fire Nation knew about the South, hadn’t she? Zuko may not have gotten any answers tonight, but she certainly had. 

The silence hangs stagnant between them by the time they enter the house. When Zuko clicks open his bedroom door, he looks absolutely terrified. When she follows him through, he lets out a low, rattling breath. 

“Are we getting into bed?” She asks him after carefully placing the pamphlets atop the books on his desk.

He stares at her like she’s sprouted a second head.

She strides across the room and climbs under his sheets, nestling the blankets carefully around her. This instinct, at least, feels sure. She pats the space next to her. After a long moment, Zuko gingerly takes a seat at the bed’s edge. He rubs his hands together furiously, as though he’s still trying to scrub free dust, or maybe blood.

“I don’t understand how you could want to be anywhere near me right now.”

“You know that none of the horrible stuff described in that pamphlet is new for me, right?” she say slowly. “I lived it.”

“The way you looked at me tonight...” He lets out a low exhale. “You looked at me the way you did when I plowed into your village with my ship.”

“You remember me from then?” 

“It was the way _everyone_ in your village looked at me. I thought you all were so scared because you were hiding the Avatar. But that wasn’t it, was it? You thought I was going to hurt you. Steal from you. Wreck your homes for no reason.”

“You did steer your ship right into our walls,” she reminds him, voice gentle, but firm. “Without benders, those defenses can take months to build.”

“I didn’t realize, or think...”

“Of course you didn’t.” She wraps her arms around her blanket-covered knees. “You didn’t know any of this, did you? You were raised to think we were savages.”

Zuko winces at this. “Savages...the pamphlet might have been exaggerating on that one, at least based on what I learned. I knew the South was underdeveloped, and we heard about infighting, a lack of education. Once I got to know you and Sokka, spoke to your father, I knew much of what I’d been taught must have been wrong. Surprise, surprise, right? And I knew the Southern Raiders were a rough bunch. But I haven’t...I hadn’t given it full thought.”

“No one really thinks about the South,” Katara whispers, unable to keep the bitterness out of her tone. “Not even our sister tribe.”

“You’re already changing that.”

The words settle painfully in her chest. And the sorrow weighing down his features, which she knows must echo her own expression, is somehow grounding. “Would you please come under the covers?”

“My people did this to yours,” his voice pitches higher. “My _family_ did this to yours.”

“Zuko, for a long time I blamed you for your family’s crimes. You _know_ that. And after everything we’ve been through, I have let that _go_. Now, I need you to believe me. When all this happened, you were a child, like Sokka and me. And the first chance you had to stand up for your own disempowered people, Zuko? You did it.” 

Zuko frowns, rubbing his thumb along the singed expanse of his sleeve. “How is it possible that we read a pamphlet about how my grandfather tried to eradicate your people, and you’re giving _me_ a pep talk?”

“Because you’re being a self-loathing baby,” she says, folding her arms across her chest.

“I saw how you looked at me tonight,” he reminds her. “How upset you were on the walk here.”

“Reading all that…it took me back, I guess. Then a burst of flame? I can’t deny that was jarring.” She sighs, looking briefly out the window to where the moon hovers low over the dark sea. “All my life, knowing that your people were evil made my anger easier to bear. Fire Nation were the bad guys who cheered senseless murder. But the people of your country…they don’t even know the truth. Not really. How can I blame them for being fed lies? _None_ of it is the way I thought it was. And that’s throwing me off, I guess, but I don’t think it’s...bad.” 

He is still staring at his burnt sleeve, expression strained.

“Zuko.” She reaches for him across the bed, tilting his face up with gentle hands. “That you can be the way you are after what your family did?” She searches his eyes. “ _That_ gives me so much hope.”

He holds her gaze like a weight he’s not sure he can carry, before lowering his chin; it’s the ghost of a nod.

“Now will you come under the covers, or am I going to have to tearbend?”

And though she had meant it all, every single thing she told him, she’s still relieved by how good it feels to settle back into his arms. The firebender’s once-loathed inner flame is now a source of warmth and comfort she has come to crave. The lean strength of his body, formed by years of training in forms that danced across her nightmares, now makes her feel protected and safe. When he tugs her back gently to look at him, the determination in his eyes—that serious look that once sparked fear in her heart—only steadies her.

“Katara,” he says against her hair, barely louder than a breath, low and solemn—a benediction. “I will work my entire life to be worthy of the grace you have shown me.”

And she can’t help the hot tears that leak onto his shoulder. _You already are_ , she wants to say, but he won’t believe her. “We’ll work together,” she whispers to him. “You big drama queen.”

* * *

“You shouldn’t go back until hotman here has mastered fire art,” Suki instructs them after they give her the full report on their exploits, minus the emotional fallout. Zuko and Katara are stretched along the sunny expanse of beach where she and Suki train, the warrior seated on a smooth rock beside them. It’s the start of another scorching Fire Nation afternoon, and Katara bends ice into their water cups as they discuss their next moves.

“Fine,” Zuko agrees.

“Do you mean it this time? I can’t believe you let her convince you to go inside that house.” 

“Why do you treat him like he’s the reasonable one?” Katara frowns as she lowers her glass. “This is the dummy who tried to kidnap Aang by dragging him to the center of the North Pole.”

“Says the girl who conned her way onto a Fire Nation prison ship without an escape plan,” Zuko retorts.

“Says the guy who tried to get a group of pirates he’d never met to do his bidding.”

“Says the girl who’s sharing his bed,” Suki cuts in, and they both look away, blushing. “Obviously neither of you are masterminds, that’s why you summoned me.”

“Remind me why we brought her on instead of Sokka?” 

“Because I generally try to avoid unwarranted eruptions of big brother mode.” 

This sobers Zuko up, and he shoots Katara a sheepish smile. Suki rolls her eyes at both of them. 

“I actually think you learned more last night than you realized,” Suki says, looking down at the pamphlet Katara brought her.

“What do you mean?” Katara asks.

“Well, the house may have looked long-abandoned,” Suki says, “but it clearly wasn’t empty for eighty years. This talks about the Air Nomad genocide happening ninety years ago.”

“That’s true.” Zuko frowns, disappointed with himself that he’d been to emotional to catch this, Katara thinks. “That timeline lines up with the period when Lu Ten was writing the last journal.”

“So maybe he was there, with Ayana, at that house,” she suggests.

“Maybe,” Zuko says, taking a long, distracting drink of water. “Though it doesn’t look like anyone uses that space anymore.”

“Definitely not,” Katara agrees.

“Maybe it’s just another dead end,” Zuko says. “But I can’t help but feel like there’s something important behind that door.” 

“So learn how to artbend, Flameo. How hard can it be?”

Katara stays behind with Suki when Zuko returns to the house to rest. At breakfast, she had told Aang to meet her by the inlet on the other side of the beach at their normal time. The relief on his face had twisted her stomach, and now that it’s less than an hour away, the tightness is back. 

“I know you’ve got a lot on your mind right now,” Suki says, holding her glass of ice water to her forehead. “But you should consider showing Sokka the pamphlet.”

Katara winces. She’d been too wrapped up in her own swirl of feelings to think about it. “You’re right,” she says. “I don’t want us all to get distracted from training to investigate, and it’s Zuko’s call what he shares about his family, but I hate hiding this. I hope maybe...after I talk to Aang, we can stop keeping secrets.”

“Yeah.” Suki’s toeing the sand below her, tone strained. “The truth will set you free. That’s what they say, isn’t it?”

“You still haven’t spoken to my brother, I take it.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“He made about fifty jokes at breakfast, each worse than the last.”

“Right? He seems totally happy, even though I’ve been giving him the cold shoulder.”

“I’m going to tell you a story,” Katara says, swirling the ice in her glass. “But don’t tell Sokka I mentioned it."

“Okay, I’m intrigued.”

“I know I’m the one who gets, um, upset more often about what happened to our mother. But immediately after she died, Sokka was the angry one. The littlest things could trigger these horrible tantrums. Losing to me at cards, dad coming back late from Tribal Council, Gran Gran refusing a third helping of sea prune stew—” 

“Not sure Sokka would consider that one a _minor_ misfortune.”

“Good point.” Katara smiles at her friend. “What I mean is, these outbursts were really constant and unpleasant. But they stopped almost instantly when Dad left for war. And right around that time, Sokka started telling way more jokes. Mostly bad ones.”

“Shocking.”

“Seriously, the jokes have gotten _so much_ better.” Suki snorts at this. “I was really confused at first, when he started laughing at his own dumb antics all the time. Sometimes it was _really_ annoying. Okay, still is. But ever since then, he’s much calmer and more level-headed. And I’ve noticed that when he gets stressed out, the jokes ramp up.”

“So you’re saying he’s being such a jerk because he’s worried. And instead of talking to me about it, he’s drawing cuttlefish faces in his congee?”

“I’m not saying it’s your job to pull his head out of his butt. It shouldn’t be. I just didn’t want you to think he doesn’t care.”

“Thanks.” Suki stares out into the distance, expression impassive for a moment before she looks down at her. “And you. You’re going to be honest with Aang, right?”

“That’s the plan,” Katara says, frowning.

“I know you don’t _really_ believe Aang will abandon his Spirits-given mission. So what are you actually afraid of?”

If she’s going to speak this aloud to anyone, it’s Suki. “I’m afraid he’ll hate me.” The jagged tip of an unspoken iceberg.

“And if he did? Just hypothetically.”

“Suki…I do love Aang. He helped me realize life can be fun even when it’s hard, that you can find family anywhere. And I _like_ being that for him. A year ago I was a little girl stranded on the South Pole dreaming of making a difference, and now I’m the Avatar’s Waterbending Master. I’m the one who can calm him down even when he’s in the Avatar state. I’m the one whose encouragement he looks for first. All that makes me feel—well, important. I finally...am proud of myself. What if all that goes away?”

“No one can take away how strong you have become. And if your friendship means as much to Aang as it means to you, you’ll get through this.”

But of course, this is the exact friendship test Katara fears they will fail.

* * *

She finds Aang in their latest bending spot, a calm, private inlet, flanked by multiple varieties of palm tree. He is meditating at the water’s edge, the perfect blue line along his spine and scalp rising straight from where gentle waves lap at his form. At his side, Momo mimics his concentration. Tidal meditation, then, a style Air Nomads developed on their travels that Aang taught Katara early in their training. 

Begun at low tide, the practitioner selects a dry patch of sand that will be washed over by the pull of the sea. On a good day, Aang is so centered the waves can crash around him unnoticed. Today he turns around at the lightest shift of Katara’s steps in the sand, and Momo leaps onto her shoulder, chirping happily.

“Katara,” Aang says her name like a foreign word, and the pained hope in his expression reveals to her how much her withdrawal has affected him.

“Hi,” she takes the seat at his side, letting the sea lap around her legs and soak her tunic. Momo nuzzles into her neck, and she is grateful for the warmth.

“Are we going to train?” Aang asks when she lets the silence extend for too long. “I’ve been practicing the last two days.”

“That’s good.” She takes a fortifying breath. “I think we should talk first.”

“Yeah.” He bites his lip, and looks down. “I know.” 

It takes him a moment to put the words together, and when he speaks it comes out in a burst. “I am really sorry, Katara. I just…I just assumed you felt the same as I did and you didn’t think you were allowed to enjoy yourself because of the war.” He looks up at her hopefully, and she can feel her lip twitch. “But that was wrong,” he says quickly. “I can’t make you want things at the same time as I do.”

“I accept your apology, Aang.” And part of her wishes that could be the end of it, but she knows better. “I want to ask you two questions, and I only want you to answer them after I’ve asked both. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“If we aren’t together—if you knew we weren’t going to be, I mean—-would you still want to save the world?” She holds up a hand before he can speak. “Aang, wait. Let me finish.” He nods for her to continue, eyes wide and glassy. “Even if we aren’t together...would you still be my friend?”

“Katara—” his voice breaks. “How can you not know the answer to these?” She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she just holds his pained gaze. “I made you feel...Oh, spirits. I put you in the eagle dove’s cage.”

“What?”

“It’s from an old Air Nomad tale.”

“Will you tell it to me?” she asks him, voice gentle.

He smiles sadly, then nods. How many times have they sat together on shores across the world, sharing their peoples’ stories? “Many, many years ago, at the Northern Air Temple, a family of eagle doves made their summer nests in the forest at the foot of the temple mountains. The monks loved these birds not only for their beauty, but also for their perfect balance of traits. You see, eagle doves are known for their deep loyalty and fierce independence. So at the start of every summer, some of the monks would go down to the forest to find feathered friends for the warm season. And in the fall, they would let them go with their families to find warmer winter homes.

But one young monk, he didn’t want to let go of his eagle dove when the weather turned cold. So the bird’s family flew south without him, and the monk hid his companion in his room. The caged eagle dove began to cry at night, so the monk moved him to a far tower. On the monk’s visits he found his friend molted from stress and starved for attention, but also more and more erratic and aggressive. One day, the monk took the bird from his cage, and the eagle dove pecked out one of the man’s eyes before flying into a winter storm even a healthy bird couldn’t survive.”

It takes her a moment to realize his tale has ended. “Aang, that’s a really sad story.”

“But it teaches an important lesson,” he says, drawing patterns in the water with his finger. “It shows how loyalty depends on freedom.” He looks up at her. “When I first found out I was the Avatar, I felt like that eagle dove. I think Monk Gyatso knew that, and that’s part of why it was so easy for me to run away…And now I’ve done that to you.”

“Aang, you never put me in a cage.”

“I did, though. I made you feel like if you didn’t reciprocate my feelings, I would leave the world to burn. That I would give up our friendship. Trapped like that, how could you ever feel the way I hoped you would?”

“That’s not—”

“Hold on, I need to say this. You’re the most important friend I have, Katara. And you may have helped me figure it out, but I know the world needs me, and that’s bigger than either of us. Sometimes being the Avatar still makes me feel trapped. I never thought about how it could make you feel that way, too. That _I_ could make you feel that way.” His jaw tightens.“It’s like Guru Pathik said, I have to let you go.”

“Aang,” Katara says quietly. “I’m not _going_ anywhere.”

“But you don’t want to be with me,” Aang says, voice blunt, and she doesn’t contradict him. “So I have to let you be alone.” He pauses, avoiding her eyes. “It’s the only way you’ll ever come back.”

She lets out a long breath. “I don’t want to give you false hope, Aang, there are things I need to—” 

“Katara,” he cuts in. “I’m giving you what you want. I’m giving you time and space. Please give me that chance.” The plea in his voice makes her wonder if he knows more than he’s let on. _I’m trying to do the right thing, but I can’t hear any more right now._

Aang is kind and optimistic, but he is not an idiot. If he is trying to tell her what he can handle, what can she do but agree?

* * *

Zuko is pretending to nap when she walks into his room, but his attention snaps to her in an instant. Late afternoon light casts his creamy skin in pale gold as he sits up to face her. She closes the door and climbs under the covers beside him. She rests her head on her pillow and he settles down beside her. He doesn’t ask her anything, just turns to watch her with those intent eyes. 

With halting sentences, she tells him everything.

"So, what now?" Zuko says, after a moment, frowning.

"Look, if Aang is saying he can't handle the idea that we'll never be together, on top of the pressure on him..." Katara sighs. "I don't know. I mean we're all living in the same house, Zuko. But it is the truth. I'm not going to be with him, and I'm...I'm done hiding this, I hate it. But I don't think it's right to rub anything in his face."

"I understand that, I just..."

"What?"

"That whole thing about setting you free? Like you were his without ever telling him so. I _hate_ that."

"I...thank you for saying that." She smoothes a hand across his chest. "Do you know what I'm realizing?" When he shakes his head, she continues. "I'm realizing I don't want to belong _to_ anyone." She tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear. "But I think...I feel like...I belong _with_ you."

" _With_ me," Zuko repeats, testing the words on his mouth.

"I want...I want to hold your hand on the beach, and curl up against you in the sitting room, and carve our names on a palm tree, and all those things that tell the world about this because...I like you, _so_ much."

"I like you, too. I _really_ like you," Zuko says, exhaling deeper this time. "But we're all in the same house."

"Yes."

"And Aang needs to stop my father within the next few weeks or the world is going to burn."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"And even if he doesn't abandon his duty... This," he gestures between them. "This would be a distraction, for him right now. There's no way around that."

"I...think so, yes," she says quietly. "But like I said, I'm...I'm sick of hiding it, the way we have. If you don't want to."

"So what does that mean?"

"Well, that you get to experience top tier big brother mode, for one." Zuko winces. "No PDA, I guess, at least when Aang is around. But maybe...if we find some time between training and planning and trying to figure out what's going on with that house, we could go on. Spirits, I don't know, a date?"

"Oh you want me to walk you to the market and show you my favorite wares?"

"Ugh, no. I don't know. I just mean..." She tucks her nose into his neck. "Can we figure it out together? Because I...sort of think...that's how I want to do everything."

"Together," he says. She can feel him swallow, and she plants one kiss on his neck, then another. "We can do that."

She kisses down to his shoulder, and when he sighs, she bites down lightly on his salty skin. He tugs her further up his chest, and she sinks her hands into his hair. He lets out a low, surprised groan as she straddles him, bringing them deliciously closer. She can feel him stiffening against her thigh, and she repositions herself so that their bodies are aligned through layers of clothes; the pulse of pleasure is immediate. 

Beneath her, he’s flushed, golden eyes darkened with such affection and longing she wants to bottle the color. She leans back just enough to take each of his hands in her own, weaving their fingers. "Together,” she says. Slowly, carefully, holding his gaze, she rolls her hips against his. And she’s not quite ready for everything she’s promising, but the shared joy—the overwhelming connection—these feelings are only growing, sweetening, making her feel strong and alive. “Together,” she whispers again.

“Together,” he repeats, and the low, warm, beautiful sound holds its own promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11/30 note: I got some really fair feedback about the initial chapter ending that made clear to me that it wasn't conveying what I wanted to...at all. Which made me reevaluate. So I've gone ahead and revised it directly and will include a note to this effect at the top of the next chapter. 
> 
> Thank you as ever for going along on this journey. And for reading these ballooning chapters! Your kudos, comments and support really keep me going. <3 Hope everyone's keeping safe and healthy out there.


	10. Flame, Revisited — Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I’m dropping a note here to let you know that I updated a rewrite of last chapter’s final scene early this week. If you read the prior version (say, if you read Sunday or Monday during the day), I’d highly encourage you to go back and read the new ending. 
> 
> Thank you for bearing with me on this! And thanks to those of you who helped me see what my first version missed; I think the story (and this upcoming chapter) are better for it, and I’m grateful for all of you, thoughtful readers. (I hope not to have to foist more post-publication rewrites on you!)
> 
> Now, it’s time for Zuko to get his overgrown, two-part chapter with a framing device. 
> 
> It’s only fair, right?

_Fire is the element of power._

All his life, Zuko was taught to strive for blazing might. To hone his flame to a painter’s brush, he must begin again.

Once more, he is a child in a training ring, insisting to bored tutors that he feels kindling within, yet summoning nothing.

Once more, he is a boy at the start of his scar year, losing spars to Azula, lying flat-backed, panting under the sun, wondering how many extra hours of work it might take to match her—how he will do so without Mother’s guiding confidence. 

Once more, he is a boy at the end of his scar year, punching fire furious and wild in the rough sea wind, subdued time and time again by Uncle’s foresight and control.

Once more, he is an angry young man atop a mountain, cursing the spirits to electrify him—that he might feel his muscles shudder and surge with the lightning he is too emotion-stormed to summon.

He wishes once more to be a man remade by his own will, the world’s hope for balance at his back, watching in awe as the flame of dragons— _dragons_ —dances across a prismatic sky, lighting his way anew.

“You can do it again,” Katara insists the night after their visit to Ta Min’s estate. His champion. She is pressed close against him in the bed they’ve come to share. Over the following days, she will scour the house for spare practice papers. She will search his mother’s room with Suki for any text that might be instructive. She will leave him alone when he is at his most focused or irritable and talk technique with him when he can’t stop looping on his failed attempts.

He wonders if it is all merely a distraction: his drive to unravel the mysteries his cousin left behind, to unlock the secrets of the place where his great-grandmother nursed her sorrow, to learn this strange bending he has never seen practiced. Perhaps this new fixation is simply a way to keep his mind spiraling down hallways that don’t end in his father’s flame-lit sneer. It would not be his first obsession that veils a deeper fear.

“I don’t know, Zuko,” Katara says when he articulates this worry. “Even if it is a distraction for you, there’s also a chance we could find help to take down Ozai, or after, to convince your people the truth. It’s not like you’re failing to do your job—you teach Aang everyday, and you train for hours. As long as you don’t let this break your spirit, I can’t think of a better way to spend your time.”

“Can’t you?” he says with a faint smile, tracing his fingers across her lips. Her lashes shutter closed, and she hums, nestling closer, pressing a featherlight kiss to the center of his palm. Her words from that afternoon replay like a beloved melody in his mind: _I feel like I belong with you._ Moonlight pools silver across their blankets, tucked over the shape of their entwined bodies—a sight that makes his breath catch. 

When he looks back later on these last days before the new world, everything unknown, unknowable—this is the week he will think of first. The frustration and awe of forging new fire, his dawning belief in Katara’s steady affection, and the powerful possibility of the world they build together.

* * *

_The first firebenders learned from dragons._

The Sun Warriors and their dragons taught Zuko that fire can be a source of pure energy, life-giving and creative. It is these aspects of flame Zuko meditates on the next morning when he leaves Katara curled into his lingering warmth on their bed. Can he call it their bed? The very notion sends a wave of irrepressible joy through him, that the place where she has chosen to be her most vulnerable and relaxed is at his side. Or really, _on_ him: that’s how Katara sleeps, sprawled half-across his body like a reptile on a sun-warmed stone.

The next day, Katara is true to her word—she masks nothing. She sits beside him at breakfast. She requests his help with the dishes with a private smile. “Time to pull your weight, hotman.” She shows him no affection so overt that it might cause Aang discomfort, but Zuko feels the invisible cord of understanding taut and sure between them. For his part, Aang seems strangely unaffected by his conversation with Katara from the day before. To Zuko, this is yet another in a long line of inscrutable Avatar reactions, but Katara seems buoyed by the lack of tension. In the afternoon, after her lesson with Aang, she asks Zuko for a spar. 

It is an unusual occurrence—everyone gathers around the courtyard to watch. When Zuko catches her eye from across the fountain, she is sleeved up to her chest in water, grinning. And though they haven’t practiced against one another this way in weeks, they are both at their fiercest and cleverest. He trusts her not to go easy on him; she must do the same. Zuko is reminded of the dragons, Ran and Shaw, blue and red, circling one another in absolute harmony, a balanced dance that relies on force as much as grace. 

Even in their moments of fiercest hostility, there has always been a unique thrill in fighting Katara, he realizes. Something about the opposition of their elements and the intuitive way they anticipate each other brings out his absolute best. This intensity is only heightened now that they know each other’s bodies, now that they have spent long enough watching one another bend to mimic each other’s forms. The flow of flame, a column of surging water, the crackle of fire through ice, a whip of steam—theirs is a nimble, powerful dance, performed in parallel. And it ends how he’d have guessed: his wrists encased in ice against a portico column, Katara’s fierce blue eyes inches away, glinting, aflame. _Come closer_ , he wants to say. _Come claim your victory. Take anything you want._

He forgets that the others are there at all until Toph lets out a low whoop. “That’s some Earth Rumble quality stuff, Sugar Queen! And Sparky, you’d make a pretty good heel.”

Katara steps back and frees his wrists, a radiant smile on her face. When he looks out over their friends, it is Suki who catches his eye and nods imperceptibly. How strange, he thinks, that in this moment he shares his most precious secrets with a Water Tribe girl whose home he nearly crushed and an Earth Nation girl whose village he tried to raze. 

_Destiny is a funny thing, Nephew._

He takes over dinner duty so that Katara can speak to her brother—another reassurance that she meant everything she said last night, though the prospect of this conversation terrifies him. He counts Sokka as a true friend, one he hopes not to lose. And it’s not just their fledgling relationship Katara wants to discuss with her brother; she has asked to show Sokka the pamphlet they found at his great-grandmother’s estate. Of course she wanted to. How could she keep any information about their tribe from her brother, after everything they’ve been through? And really, he’d like Sokka’s strategic mind applied to whatever comes next.

That doesn’t stop his knife from missing the scallions he’s supposed to be chopping and nearly slicing into his thumb. He startles when Suki appears at his side and silently pulls the blade out of his hands. “Go measure out the rice,” she says. He gratefully complies, depositing enough for everyone in a large bowl.

“Head chef again?” 

“Don’t you think that’d be for the best?” Her knife movements are quick and efficient. “Seemed like you could use the help.” 

“Suki,” Zuko asks as he lights the coal in the stove, “are we...friends now?”

She glances down at him from the counter, where she’s moved onto seasoning Komodo Chicken. “Let’s say...allies,” she says, a small smirk lifting her lips.

“I’ll take allies.” Zuko says, returning her half-smile. But after a few moments lapsed into productive silence, he can feel the anxiety creeping back in. When he looks up and catches Suki frowning over a simmering wok, he walks over to her. “Want to talk about it?” 

She shakes her head, but her normal confidence is back. “It’ll be okay, you know?” she says.

“For you, too,” he says, and she furrows her brows at him, but nods. 

The Water Tribe siblings don’t return in time for dinner. “Katara said they’ll eat later,” Suki tells the rest of the group, though Zuko knows Katara said no such thing. Aang frowns slightly, and Toph looks suspicious, but neither of them say anything about it as they take their seats around the oversized mahogany table. Dinner conversation is a little stilted, and Zuko can see once again how much the group relies on Katara and Sokka's easy banter, their inclusive warmth. Mostly Toph needles Aang about whatever they’d been practicing in their lesson that day. Zuko excuses himself early and returns to his room to make another attempt at artbending, as they’ve come to call it.

It feels futile. Hours later, he has worked himself into a frustrated sweat, hair pushed in all directions, singed papers and scraps scattered across his desk and around his chair. He’s too focused and frustrated to hear Katara enter.

“Going that well, hmm?” She says as she shuts the door behind her and walks over to where he sits. Hugging him from behind, she drapes her arms over his shoulders and kisses his sweaty forehead. 

“I’m never going to get this.”

“That’s not true,” she says, rubbing circles on his arm. “Tell me about where you’re stuck.” She’s freshly bathed, which means her hair is especially fragrant where it falls over his shoulder, its enveloping scent soothing.

“Everything I’ve ever learned about firebending...I mean, even from the dragons, it’s always been like, you master your breath and forms, you harness your will, all so that you can generate powerful flames.” He sighs. “It seems like the same tools _should_ apply here. And Sun Warrior bending is all about energy and creativity, so I thought it would help. Like if I balance my chi and use my will to harness my energy at the right level, I should be able to...I don’t know, produce the same thing, just, finer.” He presses his index finger into his thumb a few times. “But everything comes out either overpowered or pathetic.”

“Perhaps the issue isn’t actually control, then.”

“What do you mean?”

Katara steps to the side of the desk, running her hands along charred papers. “I mean when you learned from the Sun Warriors, they gave you a new source for your bending, but they also gave you new forms.”

“So you think that’s what I’m missing? The forms?”

“I think it’s a possibility.” 

Zuko rubs his hands across his face. “But...all I know is what Lu Ten described in his journal, and that was almost nothing. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Well, we’ve got....what, six books full of artbending? Maybe if you look closer at the details, you’ll pick up something. And I’ll help.” Katara says, lifting a brown, cracked paper out from under his hand, and holding it up to investigate closer. “But perhaps you’ve managed enough destruction for tonight.”

Katara tugs his sleeve until he’s standing in front of her, and he turns his full attention to her. It can’t have gone that badly with Sokka if she’s smiling at him like that, right? She wraps her arms around his neck. He slides his hands up her back, and she tilts her head up to kiss him soundly. She winds a hand in his hair, pressing him closer, running her teeth over his lower lip. “I’ve been craving that since we fought this afternoon,” she whispers when they pull apart. And for that he leans in to take another kiss, then another. 

She pulls him down into bed, and he follows her, a flame-chasing instinct. What burns between them is a little like a dragon’s fire, he thinks—steady, warming and bright in his heart, yet it can be coaxed to blaze like this between them, technicolor, joyous, surging. “Wait, Katara,” he pants as she begins to scrape her nails across the back of his shoulders beneath his shirt. “What happened with Sokka?” Her brother’s name seems to break the spell.

“Oh!” She pulls back, taking a moment to recalibrate, and studies his face. “You’ve been worrying.”

“Um, what did you call it? Top tier big brother mode?”

“It was actually fine, Zuko,” she brushes hair off his forehead. “Otherwise I’d have said something before…you know, getting distracted.” 

He smiles slightly at the color that rises in her cheeks. “You were gone for a long time.”

“Well, we talked about a lot of things. Stuff with Suki, a little. But mostly we talked about the pamphlet.”

“Of course,” Zuko sucks in air through his teeth. “I’m making this about me.”

Katara shakes her head. “He wants to talk to us about the pamphlet and our plans tomorrow.”

“Good.” Zuko says, and she cocks her head. "I’m sure he’ll be helpful. You know, if he doesn’t murder me first.”

“I think he _will_ probably try to subject you to some sort of performative man chat. But mostly he was accepting...and um, well. Not exactly surprised.”

“You said he was _mostly_ accepting _._ ”

Katara tucks her head to his chest so that she’s closer to him, but he can’t see her expression. “He’s just…” she pauses, “afraid I’ll get hurt, I guess.”

Zuko taps her shoulder so she’ll pull back and meet his eyes. “Because of our history?” When she shakes her head, he asks, “because I’m from the Fire Nation?”

“Because you’re a _prince_ , Zuko,” Katara says, voice quiet.

“Extremely banished,” he reminds her, tapping his chest.

“Not when we win.”

“If, and _maybe.._. But, so what?” 

Katara shrugs. “Sokka has...experience with the obligations that come with a position like yours, when it comes to courtship.”

“Yue,” Zuko says, recalling the details Sokka had shared with him one evening at the Western Air Temple, after their return from the Boiling Rock—the Northern princess’s political match, their forbidden feelings. “I’m not engaged.”

“I should hope not.” Katara raises an eyebrow at him.

“And I’m not...I wouldn’t let that get in the way. Not for you. I mean, if you wanted.” He searches her eyes. “You know that, right?”

“I...yes, Zuko. Look, I hope we get to live in a world where _that’s_ our problem.” She smooths the back of her fingers along his jawline. “And for the record, Sokka also said, _Hey, look at us, sis. Royalty across the world just can’t resist our Southern Charm,_ so I wouldn’t get too caught up on it.”

“Okay,” Zuko says. He needs to let this go, for now at least. He knows his discomfort is knotted up with lingering guilt that he ever saw this fierce, talented woman and her noble, brilliant brother as worthless peasants. “I would love to court you, you know. Formally.”

“Oh? And what would that entail?” 

“Well, I’d invite you for tea in the royal family’s private garden.”

“With the turtleduck pond?”

“That’s the one.” Zuko says. “And I’d bring you to the Fire Lily Festival, but first I’d take you to the fields where they grow outside Caldera. When they’re in full bloom...it’s like nothing else, Katara. You’d love it.”

“I’ve seen a field of blooming fire lilies,” Katara says, voice suddenly strained.

“Oh.” _Ouch,_ but Zuko takes in her pursed lips and downcast eyes. “What did I say wrong?”

“No, nothing,” Katara answers quickly. “Just...a bad memory.” How could anything bad have ever happened in a field of fire lilies? Maybe a fight she hasn’t told him about?

“Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
“Not—at the moment, no. But I will,” Katara says, and he can feel the tension leaving her muscles against him. “Thank you for asking.” 

“Always.”

A light smile returns to her lips. “Right now, what I _want_ is to hear more about how you would woo me.” 

“How I _will_ woo you,” Zuko corrects her. “Did you mean what you said about...going on a date? Because I think maybe we could afford one night off…and I’d really like to take you on one.”

“Hey!” Katara taps her finger against his nose. “I asked you first. Unless you can’t handle a girl courting _you_.” 

Zuko pulls her hand from his face and presses a kiss along every knuckle, then tugs her closer. “I can very much handle that,” he whispers low in her ear, and he can feel her shudder against him. “But maybe you’ll indulge me first. You’re always taking care of everyone...and I’d like to do something nice for you.”

“You always do nice things for me,” Katara says, but she doesn’t argue, just hums and snuggles up to him in her usual way, one leg tucked over his. She has no idea what she does to him, how heady this easy closeness still is. 

The physical aspect of his relationship with Mai had certainly been enjoyable, especially as they began to figure out each other’s bodies and preferences. In a dark, upsetting time, it had felt important to be able to cling to her. And with the comet weeks away, this is its own confusing, stressful period, but _he’s_ not stumbling around in the dark anymore, and he doesn’t feel like he’s clinging to Katara—he feels like they’re entwined.

Their physical explorations have barely extended past fevered kissing, pressing against each other, roving hands. And he wants more, of course—thinks about it all the time, the wild, tender, pleasurable things he’ll share with Katara when she’s ready. But holding one another like this, unpacking thoughts and feelings between kisses, curled together in the dark, it’s intimacy beyond anything he’s experienced, and it’s only building. He thinks of his father’s damning words. He was not born lucky, but perhaps luck has found him at last.

“Want to know something funny?” Katara whispers against his neck.

“Mhm.” He nods, her hair tickling his chin.

“Sokka was actually a little mad at me for...this.”

“What? Why?”

“I believe his exact words were: _My buddy Zuko and I have got a good bro thing going. You'd better not mess that up.”_

The words warm him, this reminder that it is not just Katara who has come into his life, who he will fight to keep.

* * *

_Children of flame are unique among benders; fire is the only element conjured from within._

Fire Nation histories and mythologies often emphasize this fact, highlighting the link between the strength of a hero’s firebending and his singular destiny. Though the military values rigid compliance in the ranks and perfectly coordinated attacks on the field, _great_ men are venerated as individuals. It is a leader’s personal might and achievements that earn respect. And the impulse to chase his loftiest goals alone still runs deep in Zuko. 

To let his personal quest be subsumed by the Avatar’s mission had required a total realignment, and even letting Katara help him over the past few days has required steady reassurance from his inner-Iroh. _Your dear ones will not see you as weaker for requesting their assistance, Nephew. They will only become more invested in your goals by being included in your efforts._

He calls upon this calming refrain as he fills Sokka in on the discoveries of the last few days the next afternoon, while Aang and Toph train. Zuko and Katara sit cross-legged on the sun-dappled wooden floor of Suki’s room. The Kyoshi Warrior is back on her high dresser perch, and Sokka is seated, elbows on knees, at the edge of her bed, face scrunched in thought.

“So let me get this straight,” Sokka says slowly. “You found your late cousin’s long lost journals, and they talk about his girlfriend’s secret society that put out dangerous anti-imperial stuff like this,” he holds the Water Tribe pamphlet up in the air, “and they were meeting in secret at your great grandmother’s estate, and she was also Avatar Roku’s wife—which, seriously dude? Are there any famous fire nation leaders that you’re not related to?— but now the house is basically abandoned, and you’re trying to figure out if this group is still around, like, as soon as possible, so they can help us take down your evil dad?”

“Um, yeah, that’s a pretty good summary.” Zuko rubs the back of his neck.

“And you’re only telling me about this _now_?”

“Sokka,” Katara cuts in, “it was a lot for Zuko to process.” 

“So how come _she_ got to know about it?” Sokka points at Suki, who narrows her eyes catlike and smirks back at him.

Katara begins to speak, but Zuko stills a hand over her knee, a motion Sokka tracks with his sharp blue eyes. Zuko lets his hand drop. “Because Suki trapped me in a lie,” Zuko says. “She didn’t leave me much of a choice.”

“I imagine she didn’t,” Sokka says with barely masked fondness. “So you’re thinking more literature like this is locked up in that house.” Sokka articulates this slowly, but his excitement shines through the way it always does when there’s a new body of information to absorb.

“Possible,” Zuko agrees. “I’m definitely hoping to find something that could give us more leads on that group. Maybe information that could help us put together the pieces. I still don’t really understand how everything connects. My great-grandmother, artbending, this rhododendron group, what they wanted with Lu Ten...my mother.”

“Was there anything else we could investigate from the journals?” 

“Not that I can think of,” Zuko says. “There was a hot spring my cousin mentioned his girlfriend taking him to.” Zuko feels his face heat. “We uh, actually checked that place out first.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did.”

“Sokka!” Katara protests, and Suki sniggers behind her hand.

“You know, I feel like I’d be a lot more helpful if I could actually _read_ the journals,” Sokka muses, and Zuko’s panic must be evident, because the Water Tribesman immediately holds his hands up. “Dude, only if you were cool with it.” 

“Zuko,” Katara places a careful palm on his arm, and waits for him to meet her concerned gaze. “Maybe just the last volume? That’s the only one that talks about any of this.” Sokka watches the exchange carefully, eyes snapping back and forth between them.

Zuko, in turn, glances slowly from Sokka to Suki. “I’m, well, I’m mentioned in the journals. That’s the thing. You know, with my…family. “ Understanding registers on both of their faces, but no pity that he can discern. “Fine. I’ll bring it over to you guys.” 

“Both of us?” Suki sounds surprised.

“We’re allies, aren’t we?” He tries to keep his voice light. Part of him _hates_ this, but Katara’s reassuring touch remains on his arm.

When he and Katara get up to leave, Sokka blocks his way. “Not just yet, hotman,” he says. “You and I need to have a little chat.” Katara rolls her eyes at her brother and makes sure to plant a kiss on Zuko’s cheek.

When she steps into the hallway, Zuko swallows and looks at his feet.

“Walk with me.” Sokka says, as he holsters his space sword. 

“Do you want to spar? Should I, um...go get mine?”

“Not necessary,” Sokka says. “Come on.” Zuko looks to Suki who just shakes her head with a shrug before he follows the Water Tribe warrior out of the house. Sokka leads him onto a path that stretches toward the steep rock faces to their west, tall, jutting formations that shield the royal residence from the island’s more popular beaches. 

It’s a silent, onerous uphill climb, and dread begins to pool in Zuko’s stomach. Even though Katara had warned him to expect some sort of intimidation act, Sokka’s usual friendliness—present even moments ago—seems to have melted away entirely, and the warrior doesn’t stop or speak until they’ve reached the summit of the largest jutting bluff, its flat, rocky surface no larger than ten feet in diameter. 

“Is there a reason that you have marched me to the top of a cliff, Sokka?” 

“Yes. I’m going to need you to duel me for my sister’s honor.”

“What?”

Sokka places a hand on the hilt of his space sword, and raises his eyebrow at Zuko. 

Zuko’s heart starts to pound. Is this a joke? Had Katara misunderstood or misinterpreted her brother’s reaction? Had Sokka hidden his true feelings from his sister? After what Fire Nation men had done to the women of their Tribe, he wouldn’t blame Sokka for threatening him to keep away from Katara. “But you told me not to bring my blades? how can I—” 

A small choked sound emerges from the Water Tribesman, then he descends into guffaws. “Wow.” Sokka steps forward, wheezing with mirth, placing a hand onto Zuko's shoulder. “I can’t believe you really fell for that one, you dumb, honorable jerkbender.” 

“Um…” Zuko tries to calm his heart and reset his breathing. “Well you did go all stone-faced and you dragged me to the top of a big rocky cliff…”

“Oh yeah.” Sokka looks around them. “Seemed dramatic. Seemed to set the right mood for talking to my good buddy Prince of the Fire Nation about how he’s all soft for my annoying little sister. I figured giving you a little scare was part of the deal.” 

Sokka walks to the edge of the bluff overlooking the sea and dangles his feet over the side, pulling some boar jerky from a pocket Zuko can’t see. “Sit with me, hotman. Have some meat.”

Slowly, Zuko shakes his head and walks over. He sits down beside his friend, trying to figure out what on earth to say next. “Nice view from up here,” Sokka says, throwing Zuko a bone he can’t seem to sink his teeth into.

“Why aren’t you giving me a harder time?” Zuko blurts, eventually.

“Listen, buddy,” Sokka says between bites. “When Katara and I were on the South Pole, we were the only kids anywhere close to our age. Then we met Aang and we started traveling the world, and bam. Young people everywhere. The truth is there are guys looking at Katara all the time.”

A low, involuntary sound emerges from the back of Zuko’s throat. 

“Oh yeah, it really bothered me at first. But let me tell you something about dudes Katara doesn’t want near her.” Sokka pauses to scratch the side of his face. “They either get frozen to a wall, or they get let down so gently they don’t even know what happened.”

“Oh.” Zuko’s mind snaps to the way Katara had frozen his wrists to the courtyard column when they were sparring, the undeniable eroticism of the way she’d looked at him after.

“My point is, my sister can handle herself,” Sokka says. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you look at her.” 

“That doesn’t...um.” Zuko scrubs his fingers across his forehead. “Make it worse?”

“I’ve seen how you look out for her, too.” Sokka amends. “The way you look out for each other. And you really listen to her. Katara needs that.”

Zuko just stares at his friend for a moment. “I _really_ care about your sister, Sokka.”

“Good,” Sokka replies simply, seeming content to leave it there, but Zuko isn’t. 

“And it doesn’t...bother you,” Zuko says, thinking of the insecurities Katara had dismissed last night, “all the horrible stuff I did before? That I’m from the Fire Nation?”

“Zuko, man, you know you and I have moved past all that, right?” Sokka asks, voice uncharacteristically serious. “I count you as a _true_ friend.”

“I mean, I hoped so, but…” Zuko shrugs. “My family, what they did….” 

“Tui and La, if _Katara_ can get past that, you must know I already have,” Sokka says. “You know, it’s kind of the comeback of the century, what you’ve pulled off here.”

“I sure hope not,” Zuko says. “I’m pretty sure the comeback of the century needs to be six teenagers versus the might of the Fire Nation.”

“Well, we’ll meet back up with Dad, too, I hope,” Sokka says, squinting toward the horizon line, over the bright, peaceful sea. “With you and Katara, I just worry about...the future. You know, if we make it through all this, and it goes the way we hope…I can’t imagine your Fire Nation nobles would be thrilled to see you with my sister.”

“I _really_ don’t care.” Zuko responds, forcefully. 

Sokka nods, but his serious expression remains. “And what if she cares?” When Zuko just frowns, Sokka continues. “Look, I can tell my sister really likes you, but she’s hated the Fire Nation her whole life. And that’s changing, now that we’ve actually spent time here, met some of your people. But...you’re pretty much tied down to this place for life.”

And it’s not like Zuko hasn’t thought about this. In his ideal future, he finds Uncle, they defeat his father, Iroh steps in as Fire Lord, and Zuko and Katara have years to figure it out. They’d split their time, supporting Uncle and Hakoda, travel, learn, help rebuild the world, heal themselves, and decide what they want, together. He’s felt ridiculous daydreaming about this after less than a week with Katara, less than a month after they’ve become friends. He wants to broach these things with her soon, but hasn’t wanted to scare her off. But now he wonders whether Katara nurses worries that he’s leaving unaddressed. And he’s not surprised Sokka’s mind, always racing ahead, has honed in on these questions—they must be familiar to him.

“This is the issue with you and Suki, isn’t it?” Zuko asks carefully.

Sokka’s eyes snap to him. “Katara talked to you about it?”

“It’s a little obvious, Sokka,” Zuko hedges, not wanting to get Katara into trouble, even though of course it had not been obvious to _him._

Sokka sighs. “I want to be with Suki, but being Kyoshi Warrior is just...who she is. And if we get through all this, I need to be there for my tribe, and for Dad. It just feels...doomed.”

“So you’re pushing her away?”

“It’s not like she’s talked to me about it either,” Sokka says, folding his arms across his chest the exact same way Katara does. “I’m not...ready for her to let me down.”

“Do you think she wants to let you down?” Zuko asks. “Because I really doubt it.”

“Is that right, buddy? Or should I call you Guru Love Doctor?”

“Hey, I think I’m doing pretty well for myself.” Zuko says smugly.

“Ugh, gross.” Sokka shoves his shoulder. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

* * *

_While firebenders primarily draw their strength from the sun and other celestial bodies, they can also pull power from the earth’s fiery core._

Under the continents and beneath the ocean floor, our planet’s depths are red and scorching—so Zuko’s science tutor had informed him. She described a cracked surface of overlapping plates, shifting slowly across molten heat. 

According to his instructive texts, the Fire archipelago resides where one plate slips beneath another, where the planet’s energy surges more readily to the surface. _Like the firebenders who have tamed these islands, the power and heat of our homeland cannot be contained._ Beside these words was an illustration of Caldera’s once-massive cinder cone, spewing lava and clouds of gas and ash. 

More than any national pride, the knowledge Zuko had carried from this lesson was that the ground is always shifting beneath his feet. That it doesn’t happen all at once, when the world realigns.

The night of his talk with Sokka, he and Katara are curled in bed, reading _Love Amongst the Dragons_ together, examining the illustrations. It’s her first time encountering his mother’s favorite story, and Zuko delights in the way her eyes light up at the romance and intrigue. 

They’re almost finished with the first volume when Katara runs her fingers delicately over one of the dragon illustrations that soar across the margins. She takes her finger and thumb, pinching her nails together like the illustration’s strange little snout. “Do dragons roar?” she asks playfully, tilting her fingernails apart—and it does look like the fire-breathing creature on the page. It _really_ does.

“Katara,” Zuko says slowly. “Do that again.” She complies, of course. It’s a small, silly motion, and yet. And yet.

Zuko clambers from the bed and walks to his desk. “Listen, I know this is ridiculous, but…” Before this, the gesture he’d used to attempt narrow flame had been a pinching motion—an inhale instead of an exhale. He grabs a blank page and presses his fingers fully together, the way Katara had, touching the very tips of his nails, then opens them like a tiny mouth, trying to channel fire from where the pad of his index finger meets his thumb. A small, sure burst of flame emerges, singing an inch-wide hole through the paper before him. He furrows his brow, attempting an even less forceful motion. The fire he creates is barely visible, yet it leaves a dark smudge on the page. Katara, who has come up behind him to investigate his work, claps her hands together.

“It’s still not sufficiently narrow,” Zuko says. 

“But this is huge progress,” Katara says, proudly.

“I’m not sure how I’ll know when I’ve got the flame thin enough.”

“Hold on, I have an idea.” She walks onto the balcony and he can hear her moving about her room, searching for something. 

When she returns Katara cradles something small in her hand. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m pretty sure this is about the right width,” she says as she drops the object into his palm.

He recognizes the tiny blue shape immediately; it is one of her hair loopie beads. He hasn’t seen them in weeks. She doesn’t wear them here, and he has a sudden overwhelming urge to see those little signature strands curved around her heart-shaped face.

“I can’t take this, Katara,” he says, holding it back out to her.

“Of course you can,” she scoffs. “It’s perfect for practicing.” She’s right about that, he can see. The hole at the center of the bead is almost identical in diameter to the dark center of the rhododendron at Ta Min’s estate.

“I’m going to get it charred, Katara.” 

“Not necessarily.” She folds her arms over her chest. “And if you do, so what?”

“So your grandmother gave these to you.”  
  
“Yes, and I have about ten more sets at the South Pole.”

He’s not sure how to articulate how terrifying this is to him, that she wants to give him something that is so quintessentially _her_ , and not only that, a symbol of her culture, to be potentially damaged by the same firebending that has done her people so much harm. But he does know that the image of her little hair loopie scorched with his flame makes him feel sick.

“Zuko, breathe,” Katara says quietly. “You don’t have to use it. But will you hold onto it?”

She probably doesn’t mean _literally_ , but Zuko keeps the cool bead tucked in his palm for the rest of the night, through conversations and kisses. They’re tucked under blankets and ready for sleep when he remembers something he wanted to discuss with her. “Toph stopped me on the walk back.”

“She wants to know what’s going on,” Katara guesses.

‘Was it a meeting of the big kids club or some sort of weird double date?’ were her exact words, if I recall.” 

“Sounds about right. And what did you tell her?” 

“That I’d talk to her more soon,” Zuko says. “I think we should tell them about what we’re working on. Her and Aang, I mean. I know we don’t want to distract him...but I think. I think it would be good to have their help.”

“It’s your choice,” Katara says slowly. “But I think it’s a good idea. I think it’s ideal to have as few secrets between the group as possible.”

This admission makes him want to open up more, address something that’s been tugging at him since the afternoon. “You know how I said the conversation with Sokka was fine?” Zuko asks slowly. She nods. “It was, but he did...share some concerns with me, too.”

“Oh? The same ones?”

“Kind of… He’s, um. Worried about the future. Because if we win, well, I’m pretty much tied to the Fire Nation for the rest of my life, one way or another. And—”

“And I know that,” Katara cuts in. “What did you say to him?”

“I um...turned it around on him and Suki.”

“Oh, you’re _learning._ ” Her eyes sparkle in the moonlight.

Zuko lets out a laugh even though his chest still feels tight. “I know this is all so new, with us, and so much is uncertain...but I do think about that stuff, you know.”

Katara shuffles her position against him so she can face him fully. “So do I,” she says quietly, placing her palm against his face, her fingers stretched along his scar. “It’s hard not to, with the way I feel about you.” He closes his eyes at this, his heart full. He can feel tears prickling behind his eyes. 

“Look, Zuko,” Katara continues, “Like you said, so much is uncertain. We don't know what next week will be like, let alone next month, next year. But I meant what I said when I told you I want to figure it out together. I don’t imagine it’ll be easy for us, in any scenario, really. But when has anything worth having ever been easy for either of us?” She pauses to rub her thumb across his lower lip. “Zuko, we’re fighting for this world together. So we’ll fix this world together,” she says with shining eyes. “That’s what I want.”

“That’s what I want, too,” he whispers, squeezing the smooth, tiny bead in his palm.

It doesn’t happen all at once, when the world realigns. But there are some instances when the shift is impossible to miss: a volcanic explosion, a tsunami, the birth of new land. The moment he knows for sure that he loves her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes here:  
> -> I suppose if you’ve read this far you’re probably into character arcs and ✨conversations✨, but I do promise that there’s some action (and some answers) coming up in the next couple chapters.  
> -> As I mentioned at the top, this is a two-parter, so we’ll be back with Zuko next time.  
> -> I’m not sure how to frame this without tipping my hand too much, but I want to note that the conversations in this chapter don’t put to bed the questions of how Katara and Zuko will navigate their relationship in a complicated post-war world, or what all of this means for her Water Tribe identity. But they’re talking, and they’re putting the tools in place to continue to do so, and we love to see it (or at least I do, and I hope you do, too!)
> 
> Thank you again to all of you who have taken the time to leave kudos, bookmark and share your thoughts in the comments. I’m grateful you’re on this journey, and I hope you and yours are staying safe and healthy.
> 
> 12/10 update: Next chapter is going to be a bit late. Work's been extra busy. Expect it sometime next week, I think?


	11. Flame, Revisited — Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters, even the split chapters...they keep getting longer, but the weeks keep staying the same size. Thank you for your patience <3
> 
> A few more Iroh quotes integrated in here than usual, so you know, credit where due.

_Firebending’s forceful, aggressive style grants practitioners an offensive advantage._

Zuko’s royal tutors never mentioned that defense was a firebender’s great weakness. It was Uncle who relayed this particular lesson, routing, dodging and redirecting every one of Zuko’s most reliable attacks with the alien motions of other elements. _You must see your shortfalls as garden beds where you may plant new possibilities, my Nephew. Understanding others, the other elements, and the other nations will help you become whole._

And though he joined Aang to be a teacher, not a student, training with the Avatar and his fellow masters and warriors has strengthened him in ways he never expected. He has learned from Suki’s silent swiftness, from Sokka’s foresight and resourcefulness, from Aang’s exhausting evasions, from Katara’s finesse and versatility, and from Toph’s unrelenting confidence in her own outstanding power.

The last, he is reminded of constantly. 

For instance, as the earthbender clambers to her feet, hands on hips in the middle of the sitting room, to upbraid him in front of all their friends.

“So you guys are telling me that Sparky here has been pulling his hair out learning fire calligraphy in order to get through a STONE DOOR when I am literally,” she stomps just hard enough that the house shudders, “ _right_ here?”

“It’s not that simple, Toph.” Zuko really should have predicted this reaction. “That kind of door is sage-sealed. You can’t just strong arm your way through.” 

“Well, have you ever tried?” Toph shoots back.

“Yes,” Katara, Sokka and Aang respond in unison. 

The earthbender folds her arms across her chest, and Aang cuts in before she can continue. “Zuko’s right, Toph. We have that kind of locking system at the Air Temples, too.”

“So what’s it doing in some dead lady’s house?”

“That’s one of many questions we have,” Katara speaks up from beside him on the sofa with the exaggerated patience she reserves for Toph. “And Ta Min wasn’t just some lady. She was Avatar Roku’s wife.”

“Zuko’s great-grandparents,” Aang echoes from where he sits cross-legged on a plush crimson rug. “I wonder why Roku never told me about that when you were chasing us. I’d ask him if only my stupid chakra wasn’t blocked.”

“Hey, Aang,” Katara says gently. “We’re going to figure this out.”

He doesn’t exactly ignore her, but the airbender’s expression pinches instead of softening at Katara’s comforting words. “Well, I do have something I can offer,” Aang says. “I know this art style.”

“You do?” Zuko leans forward.

Aang nods slowly, thumbing through the pages of the Roku folio. “We had books like this in the Air Temple library. I know I’ve told you guys about how different the Fire Nation was when I was growing up. But there was already this sense that they thought themselves...more advanced, I guess. Like, that part of the Fire Nation’s duty was to lead the rest of us with their progress.”

“ _All lives are guided surest by the hand that masters the light of flame_.” The recitation falls like a heavy, forgotten language off Zuko’s tongue.

“Catchy,” Sokka mutters, and Zuko shrugs.

“Yeah, well,” Aang continues, “that whole, um, leading other nations thing...it meant something different when Kuzon talked about it. Like, it was more about cultural influence, but it wasn’t something he seemed that serious about, so I didn’t think much of it. And this kind of bending,” Aang runs his fingers along a beautifully illuminated page, “I think it was already out of style when I was growing up.”

“Probably because of Fire Lord Sozin, right?” Sokka suggests. “Makes sense it would fall out of favor as he prepared for war. That wasn’t the kind of _power_ he was after.”

“Man, Sparky, your _other_ great-grandad is really just the gift that keeps on giving.”

“Just wait until you hear about his comet.”

“Zuko,” Katara cuts in gently, “the way Lu ten wrote about your mom’s reaction when he mentioned the artbending, I kind of assumed it was banned.”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. Especially because I’d never heard of it, and she didn’t keep any of these books at the palace.” Zuko turns back to Aang. “Do you know?”

The Avatar shakes his head, “Not about that. If it was banned in the Fire Nation, the Air Nomads would still have kept the books in our libraries. I know some of the monks really admired it. They liked the idea that if you could master total precision with your bending, you could use it to spread knowledge.”

“And this rhododendron group,” Sokka considers the pamphlet on his lap, “they were using this forbidden bending to spread knowledge that the government was trying to suppress. Pretty badass, if you think about it.”

“But we still don’t know,” Katara adds, “the connection between that group and Roku and Ta Min.”

“Wait, Katara,” Suki reaches across Sokka’s lap to grab the journal Zuko lent them. She pages through until she finds what she’s looking for. “We, um.” She looks quickly up to Sokka who nods before her eyes return to Katara then Zuko, and he feels a slight drop in his stomach. “We had an idea about that.” 

Katara walks up behind Suki to take a closer look, biting her lip as she reads, her forehead creasing. She raises her hand to beckon Zuko to her side. Suki hands the book to him and he looks to where she points. He remembers this now: Ayanna dragging Lu Ten to a meeting in an underground parlor… on _her_ grandmother’s lands.

Zuko lets out a low breath. “So you think…”

“I mean, look at the evidence,” Suki says. “Secret door, big old house full of inflammatory pamphlets and artbending. Then there’s this artbender girl who’s writing banned texts and meeting at a secret parlor...on her _family’s_ estate.” 

“How did we miss this?” Katara whispers. Zuko walks back to their sofa and rubs his hands over his face.

“Can somebody PLEASE fill me in on what the hell is going on?” Toph cuts in.

“I’d also like to know,” Aang supplies, tone strained.

Sokka is the one who steps in. “We think Lu Ten’s rebel girlfriend was related to Ta Min.”

“So he was dating his _cousin_?” Toph asks. 

“Wrong side of the family, smartypants,” Sokka says.

“She _would_ be Zuko’s cousin, though,” Suki adds.

“Well, we’ve already established that basically _everyone_ in fireland is related to Zuko.”

“Enough, Sokka.” Katara can always tell when Zuko begins to get overwhelmed.

“My mom’s family,” he says quietly. “She was an only child. Her dad was a magistrate, and her mother...that was Roku and Ta Min’s daughter, but I only learned that recently. I didn’t think they had any more children, not that Mother mentioned, anyway. But I guess I don’t really know...much of anything about them.” 

An uneasy quiet settles across the room, and he can feel the ocean-wide tenderness of Katara’s eyes reaching toward him, but it’s Toph who breaks the silence.

“Well, if it’s an underground parlor, you’ve gotta at least let me feel it out.” She wiggles her toes in the air, disgusting—endearing, inspiring. When she lets a grievance go, she lets it drop like a boulder, freeing her to turn her powers elsewhere. 

“Yeah, good idea,” Sokka agrees. “But we need a plan when we all go back.”

 _We all?_ Zuko wants to say, but of course it’s _we all._ There’s no retracting this now. And he’s stronger this way, isn’t he? He finally lets himself meet Katara’s eye, and she sends him a reassuring half-smile.

“Sokka and I want to see if we can track down that book store Lu Ten mentioned,” Suki adds. The two of them seem easier around each other than they have in days—a shared project at the very least, reminding them how well they work as a team. “Plus flameo here needs to master his artbending.”

“I’m pretty close, I think,” Zuko tells the group. “I think I could have it down in a day or two.” 

“And I’d like a chance to read some of these,” Aang says, gesturing to the folios. “If that’s alright with you.”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Zuko agrees, gathering them up from where they are piled between himself and Katara.

“Wow,” Aang says, as he arranges the books on his lap. “So _this_ is what you guys have been up to.” Zuko has felt left out enough times to recognize the tension underneath Aang’s upbeat delivery. The Avatar doesn’t need to say: _Why didn’t you tell me sooner?_ It’s already hanging in the air.

He thinks maybe Katara will jump in the way she did with Sokka, but then he sees the worn, careful way Aang watches her—so Zuko speaks up. “I probably should have told everyone immediately. It’s just...finding all this about my family—it was hard. And Katara was really helpful talking me through it. I guess that took a little time.”

He can see the quirk of Toph’s lips, _I’m sure it did_ , but she reigns it in. “Sweetness is good at all that feelings junk.” 

“Yeah, she is,” Aang agrees, still watching her, and Sokka turns their attention back to planning.

The gang decides to check in the following afternoon, and they set their sights on two days ahead for a journey back to the estate. In the meantime, Suki and Sokka will investigate in town and Zuko will continue to pursue his artist’s flame.

As the group disbands, he readies himself for another afternoon of burning paper and reevaluating his family legacy. He hopes Katara will join him so they can at least debrief before he sets to work, but Aang stops her with a hand on Katara’s upper arm. It’s a gesture that would have sent a crackling flare of jealousy through his veins even a few days ago. And it’s not that he enjoys watching it, but the feelings have reoriented—will the Avatar say something to upset Katara?

He watches her dark curls lift in an ocean breeze as she follows the Avatar onto the house’s main balcony with a quick backward glance, mouthing, _soon_. He doesn’t see Toph arrive at his side. “Never a dull moment for you, is there, Sparky?” 

“Yeah, that’s my life. A real thrill ride.”

“Look, I know you can talk through all this stuff with Sweetness and she’ll kiss and make it better,” Toph says. “But I know a thing or two about having a family that seems to just have their hands in every stupid thing. If you want to talk about it, I’m around.” And it’s not _why didn’t you come to me?_ It’s just what she says. A standing offer, a reminder of the safety they make for one another.

* * *

Zuko has discovered that the fire that burns most elegantly on the page emerges almost invisibly from his fingertips. He can now reliably sketch rich brown streaks on paper—darkening them to black if he pauses his motion longer—but his lines are still too wide. 

It seems that if he shrinks the space between his fingertips, his fire emerges thinner but flares as it extends, unwieldy, overpowered. To generate a tighter, more even flame, he must find a way to ease up the intensity as he pinches his finger and thumb tighter. He suspects that there’s a perfect balance of force and form that he hasn’t found yet. But he _will._ He must.

Zuko isn’t sure why he’s so convinced that whatever lies behind his great grandmother’s strange door will be such a game-changer. Perhaps it’s merely misplaced hope. For weeks, he’s been offering his knowledge of Caldera and the palace as Sokka thinks up attack plans. But he can tell that despite the Water Tribesman’s strategic acumen, he feels nearly as stumped as Zuko does. 

All they know for sure is that they must try to find the Fire Lord at his most unprotected, that they must isolate Azula—clear, but near impossible objectives. At least he’s made apparent the importance of taking down his father before the comet, but they all agree Aang should be as prepared as possible before he confronts the Fire Lord. And the Avatar doesn’t feel ready. As the days tick by, and the inevitability and uncertainty of what’s coming churn anxiously in the air, perhaps they are all glad to grasp at some hopeful straws, for anything that might improve their comically long odds.

He picks up the Painted Lady folio, the only text he and Katara left behind when meeting their friends, and flips through until he sees the river spirit at her most glorious. Had Ayana bent these elegant lines? They’re the same style laced beautifully across his great-grandmother’s walls, the piles of pamphlets, and his mother’s books. And now he wonders if it’s truly blood that connects these pieces together, to him. Could Lu Ten’s lover have been lying about her connection to the estate? But then, Ayana hadn’t even explained _who_ her family was when she brought Lu Ten there, otherwise he would have written about it. What a mess, and yet it all just affirms Zuko’s hope that they’re spiraling close to something of importance. 

He traces his finger along the curving lines of the Painted Lady’s billowing veil and imagines Katara in these ethereal garments, sneaking away at night to help the people of his nation by sabotaging its parasitic apparatuses. _Dangerous. Beautiful_. And was this what Lu Ten had seen in the artist with her heart willed against war?

Nearly an hour has passed by the time Katara arrives at his door. She bends toward him like a curly willow, and he stands from his desk chair to draw her closer. She steps back to run a hand down his shoulder and along his arm before tugging him toward their veranda. A self-soothing impulse, he thinks, the way Katara seeks out beauty to calm her sharper worries. 

It’s a familiar setup, each of them dangling their feet in the light breeze, but now she sits nearer, her arm pressed to his. As she sighs, she lets her head drop onto his shoulder. “I’ll leave you to practice soon. I know you need to. And I need to start dinner.” She brings her hand on top of his. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“What, because of my ever-expanding family?”

“That, and just...talking to everyone about what we’ve found. I know that wasn’t easy.”

“It wasn’t so bad...and it was the smart thing.” Zuko flips his palm and intertwines their fingers. “I want answers. I’m just trying not to get my hopes up. And I feel a little...confused about my mom. What she knew, what she didn’t, why she didn’t tell me anything about her family.”

“Maybe she wanted to wait until you were older, especially if there were things it would be dangerous for you to repeat. You were pretty young when she disappeared.”

“It’s true,” Zuko sighs and squeezes her palm. Her eyes are somehow even bluer in the afternoon sunlight. If they had all the time in the world, he’d take her down on the beach and soak in sunshine as he watched her surf and splash. 

“Aang wanted to know if the reason we didn’t talk to him sooner was because of stuff with us.” When Zuko pulls back in surprise, she clarifies. “Between him and me, I mean. He thinks...everything that happened made me not want to talk to him. I told him it wasn’t like that. But isn’t it, kind of? Now we’re behind, and it’s my fault, because I let my feelings get in the way.”

“Our friends helped us piece some things together today that we didn’t on our own, but nothing here is your fault. If it wasn’t for you, I never would have found the journals, first of all. And if it wasn’t for you... If I found them here and I didn’t know _you_ , I never would have shown them to _anyone_ —not unless I could find Uncle, and who knows where he is _._ You don’t even know the ways you make things possible, Katara.”

Where would any of them be without the girl whose day-to-day dedication keeps their whole team fed and healthy, whose healing keeps them whole, whose strength can turn the actual tide of a battle, whose passion freed the Avatar from the ice, whose power returned Aang's life after Azula’s lightning, whose unearned kindness planted Zuko’s hope for redemption? He is only beginning to understand the ways she makes him better, stronger—the way their closeness has shored up his defenses. 

She gives him a slow nod, but he can tell it’s for his benefit. Fire and water may be opposing elements, but they share a weakness: unchecked emotions can thwart a bender’s control. In an untrained waterbender, wild feelings wield dangerous results, but in a master, strong emotion can fuel untold power. It is fitting, he thinks, that Katara's heart powers her in both her bending and in her life. Yet no waters run infinities deep, not even hers. 

“I have to go make dinner.” She shuffles to her feet.

“Just a second.” Zuko gently captures her hand. 

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“What about it?”

“If I can master this...” Zuko pinches his free thumb and index finger together. “Tomorrow night, I’m going to take you on that date we were talking about.”

He sees the ghost of a smile cross Katara’s lips. “Think you’re up for the challenge?”

“The artbending, or taking you out?”

“Both.” She taps her chin with her index finger, the sparkle back in her eyes. “Either.”

Agni, he wants to pull her down into his lap and kiss her until she’s smiling full and sure and just for him—but no. The bright, immediate strike is the wrong approach for tired, tangled emotions. This he has learned from her. There is so much she has taught him. He will show her.

* * *

_Only an unflinching will to accomplish tasks and desires can temper the overpowering force of inner flame._

It should be strange, that the prospect of a date with the girl he holds in his arms every night drives him to his most intense focus. But then, he has a feeling that through Ta Min’s door—whatever they find—lies the final act of this Ember Island idyll, that in just two days, everything will shift. Not that he will lose Katara’s affection, but that there will be no more sneaking away to seek joy, not with the comet so near. And before that window closes, he wants to show her how well he can love her. What if it’s his only chance?

And so, as he sits back down at his desk, rolls up his sleeves and eyes his pile of half-charred paper waste, he steels his will. He cannot fail. He considers all the lessons he has learned about bending—from Uncle and the Sun Warriors most of all. He summons his drive, his control, the life force within. 

He thinks of every moment of breakthrough he has experienced with his bending, lingering on the dancing dragon—how his flame returned to him when he was swept up in the grace of movement. He holds the strange little snout he makes with finger and thumb up to his eyes and considers what he now understands to be the intent of this unusual form—the transmission of knowledge, the replication of beauty. 

He has been thinking only of igniting his way through the sealed door, but what if that is hampering his progress? What if he focuses, as he bends, on what he intends to communicate? 

_I will unlock the door._ He writes in uneven, brown-black lines. _I will unlock the door_ , he tries again, then once more. And yes, he can tell, this is progress. By the time he leaves his desk behind for dinner, he knows he’s close. He encourages Katara to stay with their friends when he returns to the room.

 _I will master this. I will unlock the door_. He writes and writes until his lines grow more even, sleek and slim. _Katara_ , he writes, once, then again. But he doesn’t need to write to solve this puzzle—he needs to bend a straight, compact burst of flame. _I will unlock the door_ , he thinks as he aims his narrow fire directly at a fresh page of paper. The singed, circular mark is still too wide. _I need to unlock the door_ , he thinks, but no. _I must know what is inside—_ and that is better. The darkened hole on the page is no wider than the tip of his pinkie finger. _I want to learn the secrets of this house_. And that...might be nearly small enough. He tries again.

And of course it’s this way, he can see it now, how pure a firebending style this is: the clearer his will to achieve his desire, the crisper his form, the cleaner his results. By the time Katara slips into the room long after dark, he thinks he’s got it. “Outstanding,” she says, pulling a practice page from his hand. He should have expected her next question, his stubborn waterbender. “So will you try the bead now?”

He shakes his head and smiles. “I don’t need to.” He takes the practice page from Katara and places it on the top of his pile, then he pulls the hair loopie bead from the bedside drawer where he has been keeping it safe and close. He holds the precious little cylinder up to the page, and its blue circumference perfectly frames each hole he bent.

“You’ve done it,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“It’s like Uncle used to say,” he tells her with a smirk. “Never count out what a firebender can accomplish when sufficiently motivated.” 

* * *

_Firebending comes from the breath. The breath becomes energy in the body. The energy extends past your limbs and becomes fire._

By its nature, fire is hot, wild, consuming. And because it is conjured from within, firebenders must hone a unique intimacy with their element. It is because of this, according to Uncle, that in the time before the war, firebenders were known among the nations to be the best lovers.

Zuko imagines explaining this to Katara as he sits in the old-sea shed under the house stilts, wiping down Uncle’s old black-and-gold canoe with a rag. Surely she would roll her eyes, the way he had when Uncle shared this unwelcome tidbit with him, but would her beautiful blue eyes glint with excitement, too?

He drags the scrubbed boat behind a scarlet bottlebrush bush on the western edge of the beach while Katara cleans up from breakfast. In the afternoon, when she and Aang train in their usual cove, he pulls Sokka to the kitchen and forces him to repeat what he recalls of the recipe—kale and flour and brown sugar and butter. “You southerners eat the weirdest food.” 

“Watch it,” Sokka shoots back. “I _already_ can’t believe you conned me into helping you score points with my sister.”  
  
“I’m not trying to _score points_. I’m trying to do something nice for the person who takes care of all of us literally every day, you most of all.” When this fails to impress, Zuko adds, “Plus, I’ll give you a quarter of the batch.”

“A third and we’re talking.” Sokka offers very little additional assistance. Mostly he just leans against the counter in his apron offering commentary on various cooking smells, licking batter from Zuko’s mixing spoon, and eyeing the half-full cooling rack. “So, future Fire Lords bake cookies.”

“It’s like you all are incapable of remembering that I worked in a tea shop,” Zuko says as he pulls his second batch out of the oven.

“Well, you’ve got to admit, it really doesn’t fit with the whole,” Sokka waves the spoon in Zuko’s general direction, “brooding banished prince aesthetic.” 

“Yeah,” Zuko agrees. “You’d _almost_ think it was a cover.”

“You _would_.” Sokka squints between bites. “But these are too good for cover cookies.” He counts out his portion onto a plate. “More investigation is needed.”

* * *

Zuko meets Katara by her balcony door at nautical twilight, just a line of vivid orange cresting the western horizon. The others are playing a card game in the sitting room, so he leads her silently across the house’s connected balconies, toward the eastern wing where they can hop down onto plush sand. 

Though Katara could land this half-story leap blindfolded, Zuko jumps first, turning around and opening his arms to catch her to his chest. When she steps back, she’s grinning, squeezing his hand, and he’s not sure he’s _ever_ felt this giddy. He wraps an arm across her shoulders and whispers, “Come on,” into her sweet-smelling hair.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” 

“Always so curious,” he says with a shake of his head, and _there’s_ that eye roll. Katara wears her normal Fire Nation reds—the breezy skirt and short, figure-hugging top he adores, but she’s taken extra care with her hair, small, face-framing plaits are gathered around a cascade of curls at the nape of her neck.

“Oh,” she breathes as he pulls aside red-fringed branches to reveal Uncle’s small, elegant vessel. It’s already packed with everything Zuko prepared, plus their lanterns, which he lights and sets at opposite ends of the boat. “You’re _really_ taking me out.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” He pulls the canoe to the water’s edge, and she smirks as he helps her into its back seat. He is being _indulged_ , and he kind of loves it; he makes a show of grunting from exertion as he pushes their boat into the low, easy tide. 

He had expected she’d try waterbending to speed their passage—assistance he planned to reject—he tells her this as he paddles them toward the western cliffs. “And miss out on the show?” she asks, raking her eyes unsubtly across his exposed arms and shoulders before crossing her legs demurely. “I don’t think so.” Even though she often trails her fingers in admiring lines along his body at night, her words and gaze set his heart galloping. Already, the night is how he dreamed it: the waxing moonlight and lantern flame dancing on the dark current all around them, Katara’s fullest smile—surrounded by her element, illuminated by his. 

Over a decade has passed since he last saw the destination he has in mind: a small triangle of white sand cascading from between two tall cliff-faces. Lu Ten had introduced him to this place, actually—an escape from an escape, he’d called it. The tiny beach is still on royal property, but inaccessible except from the sea. He paddles them to the beach, stepping out first to help her onto the sand, and she lets him. 

“Would you mind uh...turning around for a moment?” He rubs at his neck, “I want to get everything set up. I mean, not that there’s that much, I just…want it to be right.” She nods, turning toward the shimmering ocean. 

He stretches the gold-trimmed beach blanket flat across the sand, sets their lanterns on opposite sides, and unwraps the plate full of kale cookies, the other of grilled mango, which he reheats with his palm, and arranges the vase of moon peonies he bribed Suki to find for him at the market. _This is really what you have to offer a woman, dum-dum? Some home-baking and dead plants pedaled to commoners?_ But no—inner-Azula is wrong. What he prepared may not be much—not everything Zuko would buy for her if he had access to his accounts, not the first place he would take her if they had his ship and all the time in the world—but he chose every element of this night just for Katara.

He looks up to call her, and his breath catches. She stands at the waterline, her beautiful form silhouetted against the silver clouds. It’s like the scene was painted to be her backdrop: the emerging stars, the reflected moonlight like a silver bridge to the edge of the sky. When she turns at his call, her eyes are cut from that same celestial fabric. 

He leads her up the beach and watches anxiously as she surveys what he has prepared. She drops to her knees on the blanket, and lifts a cookie up to the lantern light, then sniffs at it. He carefully takes the seat beside her. She turns to him bewildered. “You made...kale cookies?”  
  
“I wanted to make you sea prunes, but Suki couldn’t find any at the market, and anyway, I knew it would be easier to sneak away after dinner, so I figured...you know, dessert would be good. And Sokka mentioned once that you liked these, and before I started learning to artbend, I’d been reading about Southern Water Tribe cuisine, so—.”

“You were reading about...our food?” she asks, still staring at the cookie in her hand.

“Um, about your culture generally. If Lu Ten’s books are accurate, so—”

“Why?” she blurts.

“Well,” he blinks, not having expected this question. “If I’m going to be a good leader, I need to know so much more than I do about other cultures. But…I mean. You’re in my country, you know? You wear our clothes, and you’ve been reading our books. And I just...I like your stories, and there’s so much I don’t know about your world.”

“Zuko, that’s...that’s really sweet.” 

He ducks his head and keeps talking. “Then, I know you like mangos, and this is one of my favorite ways we prepare them in Caldera, so I thought...It’d be nice to show it to you...I guess.” 

“Is this how Fire Princes court ladies? They prepare their favorite desserts by hand?” 

This, he has an answer for. “No,” Zuko leans back on his elbows. “This is how _I_ court _you._ ”

“Oh.” Blushing, she takes a small, curious bite and her eyes widen. 

“If you ever come back to the South Pole, you’d better keep these a secret,” she says. “Or else the Tribal Council will trap you in the kitchen, and you’ll never get back to your Fire Palace.” 

“That would be a pretty anticlimactic ending to my big redemption story.” 

“Or a very fitting one.”

He shoves her shoulder with his before taking a bite himself. “So they taste right?”

“A little sweeter than traditional.” She reaches for a second cookie. “An improvement, honestly. You’ll have to give me the secret recipe for Gran Gran.”

“Yeah, definitely going to need to earn some points back from your grandmother,” he mutters.

“Rescuing her son from prison was a pretty good start.”

“Well, it would be a great honor just to be mentioned around your Gran Gran’s legendary hearth.” He slices mango for them to share. 

“You know,” Katara takes her portion into her palm and glances out over the ocean. “This reminds me of the first night we ever really talked. After you joined us, I mean.”

‘On that little volcanic island?” The two of them alone on another quiet beach, eating mangos he peeled with a traveling knife.

“You did everything for me then, too,” she says. “And it wasn’t even a date.”

“Katara, if I had tried to take you on a date then, you would have handed me directly to the sea.”

She snorts but doesn’t deny it. “Well, you took good care of me, anyway. I was locked up in my own head, and you made the fire, set up our camp, brought me dinner.” She takes a bite, humming with pleasure at the taste. “The way you confided in me until I opened up...I don’t think there’s anyone else in the world that could have gotten me talking that night.”

He feels a warm swell of pride. “I could say the same of you, basically every night since.”

“Can you imagine, if you hadn’t pushed me then? If we never got to know each other…”

“If you think I wouldn’t have kept on trying, Katara, you’re _seriously_ underrating my persistence.”

“Oh, I know a thing or two about your persistence.” She laughs, then pauses, turning to him with intent, curious eyes. “ _Surely_ you didn’t feel this way back then. I was awful to you.”

“I was, uh...a little terrified of you,” he admits. “But...if you’re asking if I was drawn to you, even then…” He cards his hand through his hair. “I mean, spirits, Katara. I have _eyes_.” She blushes at that. “And you’re so strong, and so protective and _good_ to the people you care about. I had to watch that every day, when I _knew_ what your kindness felt like...only for a moment, an incredible moment, and I’d wrecked it. I think I’d have done just about anything for your forgiveness.” He reaches for her free hand, where it rests between them on the blanket. “But I wouldn’t have dreamed this.”

“I wouldn’t have dreamed _this_ ,” she gestures around them. “Everything about this is just...beautiful and thoughtful...and so personal. No one else has ever taken care of me like this.”

“I want to. I want to take care of you like this _all the time_.”

“Zuko,” she whispers, scooting closer to him, wrapping her arms around his chest.

“You’re always helping everyone. I want to be the one who does things for you.”

“Does that mean more kale cookies?”  
  
“If that’s what you want,” he says earnestly.

“What I want,” she pushes his hair out of his eyes, “is for this night to never end.”  
  
“I don't thin I can give you that,” he says, closing his eyes. “But we can stay here as long as you like.” He twists one of her braids between his fingers.

“I’m nervous for tomorrow,” she says eventually as she curls herself tighter into his arms. “I don’t know why, but I feel like everything is about to change.”

“I feel that way, too,” Zuko admits. “It’s like...maybe we’ll find something that really helps us. Probably we won’t find anything. But it sort of feels like…the last tangent, or something. You know?”  
  
“Like if tomorrow’s a bust we all we can do is just throw ourselves at the final thing...until the end.”

“Yeah.” Zuko tries to keep his father’s face out of his mind. “I guess I wanted to do something special just for you, for us, while we can still enjoy it. And I can’t hire you the finest chef in town, and I can’t take you on a cruise around the eastern lagoon. I...I would, you know.”

“Zuko.” She places her palm to the side of his chest, and kisses the words onto his cheek. “Tonight...I’ve loved every minute of it.” 

Love, he thinks, is a little like firebending, how, from breath, it becomes energy in the body, extending through limbs, warm and bright. He burns to say the words, the ones he hasn’t spoken since he was a child, unbanished and unscarred, but he’s not sure he knows how to bend them yet. So he simply concentrates on his breath and pulls her closer, planting gentle kisses against her forehead. She blinks up at him then glances around their private cove.

“How did you find this place?” 

“Lu Ten showed it to me, actually. He used to take me here to practice new bending forms where my sister and father couldn’t watch. And sometimes we would just float on our backs in the sea and he would tell me stories about the Military Academy. The water here, it’s some of the calmest, clearest water on the island.”

Katara perks up at this, which he should have expected. “Do you want to go in?” He asks her, but he knows the answer even before he’s being pulled to his feet by the shirt. 

“Come on,” she says as she tugs him to the water’s edge. He watches as she lifts her red top over her head and slinks out of her skirt before wading waist deep into the sea in just her wrappings. His feet stall as his eyes trace the line of her back, her reflection dark and smooth on the water. When she looks back at him, her gaze is magnetic. 

He tosses his shirt on top of her pile of red garments and strides through the water toward her. He slides heated hands across the exposed skin of her back and around her stomach, pulling her into him. “Untraditional to start shedding clothes in the middle of a first date,” he says low into her ear, feeling her breathing stutter.

She spins to face him, a determined glint in her eyes. Her arms wrap easily around his neck, and she brushes her lips against the shell of his ear. “Name one traditional thing about us.” And then he’s being pulled so quickly, so easily, under a silent wave. When he sputters to the surface, her arms still around him, she’s laughing, joyous and incandescent. 

“Oh, it’s like that?” He jolts to his full height, hoisting her easily into his arms, capturing her legs in the crook of his elbow. He spins her quickly, once, again, then launches her into the air, her squawk of protest half-swallowed by her landing splash.

He waits for her to emerge, all determined eyes and wild hair, ready to pounce, but she doesn’t; the water stills. Just as he’s about to pull a flame into his palm to search for her, he feels a tug at his feet, and he’s submerged to his neck. 

“It’s like _that_ ,” she says from above him. And he loves how they can move together from gentle to wild, earnest to playful, languid to fierce, a range of harmonies they find with unspoken ease. He tries to repeat her strategy and lunges for her legs, but she leaps in time, and then she’s right in front of him, at the crest of a wave, and they’re washed backward into the wet, soft beach, and she’s straddling him, palms pressed into the sand at either side of his head, panting through a wide, eager grin, eyes alight. 

_Just for me_ , he thinks _._ He cups her neck, pulling her lips to his, and she presses her chest down against him. Her kisses, teasing at first, grow urgent as he runs his hands up and down her back, pulling them impossibly closer. Her sandy hands snake into his hair and her lips find the tender spot behind his ear. “You,” he whispers, his voice is hoarse, rapt. “You’re incredible.” 

“You,” she responds, “you are, you.” Her hips find a rhythmic current against his, and he’s throbbing with desire—bucking back against her without even realizing. Her wet sarashi top chafes against his chest as she moves against him, and he wants to undo her wrappings with his teeth, wants to flip her over and take her like this, gentle waves breaking at his back—to be enveloped by her and everything hers, nighttime and moonlight and undulating ocean. When she blinks down at him, chest heaving between kisses, her eyes are drunk with arousal, and _Agni._ Does she even know what she’s doing to him? He’s not sure, and he needs to be.

“Katara.” Her name comes out low, gasping.  
  
“Zuko.” She plants an open-mouthed kiss onto his neck, and he groans.

“Katara,” he tries to sound clear-headed. “Katara, slow down.”

She pulls back to look at him through her lashes. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” He looks down to where their hips are pressed together, and her eyes follow; he can feel her intake of breath when she sees the tenting of his pants against her wrappings. “Last time we spoke, you weren’t ready for...” 

“Oh,” He can feel her trying to catch her breath against him. “Oh.” And he readies himself for her to climb off him, but her eyes meet his again hungry, tender. “And what if I wanted...not that yet...but more?”

“More?” he whispers.

Slowly, she traces her fingers down the center of his stomach, resting a cool palm at the top of his shorts, her fingers just barely inching below, and she looks at him in such earnest inquiry, he’s sure he’s going to fall apart, just crumble into sand beneath that half-lidded gaze. 

“You... _want_ to?”

She nods, biting her lip. He closes his eyes, breaths coming heavy. With shaking hands, he helps her remove his shorts, heart hammering in his throat, exposing himself completely before her. She’s transfixed, running her eyes over him, then her hand, tentatively at first, growing confident, insistent once he shows her the way he likes it, once she learns how to chase his groans and involuntary thrusts. “I won’t last,” he warns her, voice high and strained.

“ _Good_ ,” she whispers. “I want to...I want to see you let go completely.” And those words, spoken with equal shyness and boldness, her eyes never leaving his, the perfect rhythm of her touch, it’s all too much—his release shudders through him, swift and searing. 

She kisses him softly through it, and when he meets her eyes, they’re curious, aflame. “Good?” 

“ _Amazing_ ,” he whispers. “You’re amazing.” He looks for something to clean himself up with, but when she sees what he’s doing she summons a gentle swirl of seawater—a quick sweep across his abdomen, an easy intimacy. He pulls her back toward him for a long, slow kiss and places a careful hand on her hip bone, rubbing slow circles with his thumb. “Would you let me?” he asks. “Do that for you?” 

“You want to?”

“ _Agni_ , yes.”

Her small, nervous smile sends a surge of tenderness through him. She grabs his wrist, and moves it down her body, until his palm is pressed against her. She rolls slowly against his hand, and they both sigh. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I want that.” Slowly—agonizingly, to his pleasure-hazy mind—she removes her wrappings, top and bottom. Spirits, _both_. 

Absolutely bare before him in the moonlight, she’s suddenly self-conscious. She pulls an arm across her chest. “Please,” he whispers, “let me see you.” And so she does. He drinks her in slowly, then stands, taking her hand and leading her to lay back on their blanket. He presses his bare chest to hers as he kisses her and feels her shiver against him. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he tells her. And gently, with utmost care, he moves down between her legs to show her just how much he means it with his fingers and mouth—until her heartbeat drums faster, until her legs shake, until she tugs his hair and cries with bliss.

After, when they are both pressed close and dazed in the sand, she dances her fingers along an old sparring scar on his chest. “I want so much more of this,” she whispers. 

“So do I.” 

“And someday… Someday I want to show you the place _I_ used to escape to, back home. It’s just a little ice cave, but it’s beautiful. I want to take you there.”

“I would love to see it,” he tells her. “And I want to show you the mirror lake outside the palace grounds. I think you’d like it.”

“I want to show you the summer solstice at home, the midnight sun. It’s like a sunset that never ends.”

“I want to show you the royal gardens. It’s the best part of the palace, full of silver wisteria and willow trees, and it always smells wonderful.”

“I want to show you the whale-walrus tusks Gran Gran brought from the North Pole. Her father carved them by hand, and she used to tell us their stories.”

“I want to show you sunrise on the other side of the island, how golden it is.”

“Well, that one, we could probably manage.”  
  
“Maybe,” Zuko says, and he knows the fear is back in his voice. “But, Katara. I just want...I want all of it.” 

“I know,” she says, “I know.” And he can tell by the catch in her voice that she feels it too, how much more terrifying their mission is from this vantage, lying together under the stars, sketching dreams for an _after_ they can’t bear to lose.

When he looks back later on these first weeks of his new life, hope fresh and fragile—this is the night he will think of first. Katara’s easy breaths against his neck, his inner flame warm and bright, love he found with an open mind and open heart—a destiny worth all of the challenges to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my initial plans, this two-part chapter contained...half of next chapter’s PLOT. But I decided to let the scenes breathe and then they grew long, and here we are. Next time we _are_ going back to the estate. 
> 
> I think new chapters may post a bit more like every two weeks through the holidays (through early Jan). I hope you all are staying safe and healthy, and wishing happy holidays to all who celebrate. Thank you for reading, for sharing your thoughts and your support for this ever-growing narrative. I hope you are continuing to enjoy it <3


	12. Without a Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you've had safe and lovely holidays if you celebrate. <3
> 
> Just a warning note to say that there are some heavier/more violent themes ahead.

Growing up, one of Katara’s favorite books was an old compilation of Earth Kingdom folktales. No one knew how or when it had arrived in their village—through an old trade route, perhaps, or as a warrior’s gift to his children from the front—only that the weather-beaten hardcover, illustrated with pigments not found on the South Pole, rarely left the bedside of the chief’s daughter. 

Katara must have read each story fifty times, poring over every hard-nosed lesson and verdant drawing. In one of the most inscrutable tales, a lovely, scholarly young princess refuses to marry her father’s chosen suitor, instead fleeing to live among nuns deep in the woods and conduct a life of pious study. A year into her stay, a mystery sickness sweeps through the convent and only the princess survives. 

Raised with staff and servants, the princess does not know how to care for the expansive building or its grounds on her own. And so, as she spends her days reading and writing and scrounging for meals, the convent’s many rooms grow dusty and disheveled. Around its walls, vines wind tall and tangled. 

After many months with no word from the nuns or his daughter, the king rides his eel hound into the heart of the wood. Hearing his familiar voice from beyond the walls, the princess climbs to the window of the convent’s tallest turret, so that she may greet him over the unkempt, ascending vegetation. 

With humble words, he begs her to return, but the princess refuses to admit her suffering—spurning her father’s generosity and decrying wealth’s comforts. As darkness cloaks the dense forest, the king leaves forlorn. When he returns a week later, even the turret window is blocked by foliage; no voice answers his cries. And so the convent is swallowed by the forest’s growth, the princess ensnared forever within. 

Katara now understands the story’s intended lessons about filial virtue superseding other pieties and the importance of worldly security. And yet as a child she had read it differently, admiring the young protagonist’s quest for knowledge and her commitment to the autonomy forged at the heart of the tale’s final illustration, cocooned by spellbinding greenery. Katara had imagined the princess happy in her choice.

On her first nighttime visit to Ta Min’s home, Katara had only been able to observe its exterior in lantern-framed fragments. In the morning light, she is captivated by the estate’s resemblance to the storybook page etched in her childhood memory: sky-sweeping leaves, tangled vines, and a sense that the structure at the heart holds treasured knowledge.

Katara returns her attention to her friends. They are huddled near the empty ostrich horse stable as Sokka leads them back over their plans. Zuko, Katara and Toph will enter the house, granting the earthbender a chance to sense any underground space, while Suki and Sokka patrol the perimeter and Aang monitors the scene from the trees above. 

It is an overcautious plan, Katara thinks, for a location so clearly abandoned, especially considering that its most recent known occupants were aligned with their cause. But months of setbacks and failures have instilled caution in all of them, Sokka especially. And besides, any test run that forces them to move together as a team is useful training for the confrontation to come.

With nervous smiles and hopeful anticipation, the group breaks. She and Zuko lead Toph past the ostrich horse stable, toward the same back door they entered the night they found the estate. 

As they walk, Katara finds her gaze magnetized to Zuko’s profile. He must be at his most handsome in the morning sun, she thinks—or perhaps last night would cast a glow around him anywhere. Katara had known Zuko cared for her before their date, of course, but the thoughtfulness of his gestures and the heat of his touch had unlocked new depths of tenderness and desire. 

As her eyes trace his features, she finds herself recalling how they looked as he came apart under her hands, the strength of his warm fingers as he held her hips down, the feel of his tongue as it moved insistently against her, and the heat unfurls within her anew. 

Is it like this for him, the whole world washed in their growing warmth? Delicious memories bubbling just beneath the surface of his thoughts? From the eager way his hand snaked beneath her sleep tunic at dawn, Katara thinks it might be. He sends her a lopsided smile when he catches her staring. “Ugh,” Toph says, “I can’t believe I got stuck with you soppy morons. You’re worse than Snoozles and Warrior Princess.”

The earthbender strides ahead to the door and takes her turn with the lock, bending a broken gatepost into a key. After a few seconds of jostling, she lets them in. Zuko shakes his head. “Am I the only one here who can’t just pick my way through any locked door?” 

“Hey,” Katara says sweetly, “you’re the only one of us who can get through the door that matters today.”

“Still not totally convinced about that,” Toph mutters.

Day casts the servant’s entry quarters in an eerie pallor, every color faded by caked dust. They step quietly through the empty corridor and into the light-drenched foyer. As they enter the sitting room, Katara’s breath catches. 

The artbent walls had looked beautiful by lantern-flame, but illuminated by sunshine—detailed artistry and rich color on full display—they are magnificent. From the sweeping, elegant spine of Roku’s dragon to the smallest branch on the courtyard trees, every line was clearly rendered with affection and intricacy. It dawns on Katara that these works are not merely a retelling of the Avatar’s life; they are a tender celebration of it. Zuko’s eyes scan the room in similar admiration as Toph makes a beeline for the stone panel. “This is the door, right?” 

“Yeah,” Katara says. “What do you sense?” 

Toph places her palm against the artwork, then slams her foot flat to the floor. Almost instantly, the earthbender’s eyebrows shoot up into her messy bangs, then her expression pinches in thought.

“What is it?” Zuko asks. 

“Well,” Toph drops her voice to a whisper, “there’s someone down there, for starters.”

 _“What?”_ Katara and Zuko both huddle closer to her.

“Alive?” Katara asks.

“Yes, _alive_ , Sugar Queen. Keep your voice down.” 

Katara and Zuko share a frown—during their last visit, they hadn’t exactly been quiet, and Zuko’s frustrated outburst when he failed to artbend would have been hard to miss. 

“What else can you make out?” Zuko whispers.

“Well, there’s a set of stairs behind this door,” Toph says, “and then below that, there’s a normal door to a big, open room. That might be the parlor Suki was talking about. But the whole floor below us seems like some kind of hideout. Bedrooms and stuff. Lots of full bookshelves.”  
  
“And this person, can you tell anything about them?”  
  
“Her. Definitely a woman. She’s sitting in the big room. There’s no one else down there that I could sense. But the place extends back, toward the door where we came in. I think there might be another entrance, but I can’t figure out exactly where it is from here.”

“Well then, we’d better go in,” Zuko says, brow set. Katara knows that look—he wants to face this before his resolve cracks. 

“Hold on a second, Sparky. You don’t just get to go charging into danger without a single brain cell firing under that pile of hair anymore. You’ve gotta work with the team,” Toph says. “And the rest of the group needs to know that there’s someone on the premises. Plus, I want to figure out if there’s another exit. So you give me 15 minutes to scope it out and talk to Snoozles. Got it?”  
  
“Yeah, fine,” Zuko agrees, pinching the bridge of his nose.

When Toph disappears down the hall, Katara steps closer to Zuko, laying a palm on his tense back and rubbing circles the way he likes. “You think that’s Ayana down there?” she whispers.  
  
“I mean, we know she spent time here, that it’s family land, and she’s one of the few people who has the ability to get through the door. If there’s a bunker like Toph said, it would be a good place for someone like her to hide out.” 

“How would you feel about meeting her?” For her part, Katara is thrilled at the prospect, but she keeps her tone level. “I know you didn’t walk away from the journals with the greatest impression.”  
  
Zuko leans back into her touch, and begins to unravel his thoughts in a slow whisper. “I think I may have been a little hard on Ayana when I first read the journals.” He sighs. “I just…wanted Lu Ten to have something real.” _Like we have_ , he doesn’t say, but the warmth of his implication expands in her chest. “And I know that matters less than, you know, the fate of humanity.” 

“Lu Ten deserved better than what happened to him.”

“We _all_ deserve better than the mess of a world my family made for us,” Zuko says. “And if it is Ayana down there…what if she hates me? She has every reason to. Her group clearly already knew my dad was a monster. And,” Zuko lets out a ragged breath, “that was before Father probably had Lu Ten _killed_.”

“But Lu Ten loved _you_ , and I bet he talked to her about his baby cousin he adored. Besides, if the Ember Island Players know you left to fight with the Avatar, it must be common knowledge in the Fire Nation, right? I think that would make anyone in this group _very_ interested in meeting you. And if not, we’re here to back you up.” Zuko closes his eyes at these words. “We’re all with you, Zuko.” She wraps her other arm around him, and he returns the embrace. “ _I'_ _m_ with you. You know that.” 

When she tilts her chin up to meet his gaze, the unabashed, unfiltered trust shining back at her sparks a sudden, swift desire to tuck him closer and run as far as possible—away from this war, away from this endless parade of uncertainties, away from his family’s wounding grip, to hold him tight and let the flame they’ve built between them light their whole lives. But then, Zuko’s refusal to run from his destiny, from his mistakes, from what is right—no matter how challenging or dangerous—is precisely why she loves him. _Loves?_ She squeezes him tighter.

“Seriously, you two?” Toph stage whispers from the foyer as she makes her way back over to them. They step apart, and the patchy blush across Zuko’s neck and cheeks must match Katara’s own.

“Well?” Zuko asks.

“Well, there seems to be a second entrance, out by the stables. Another one of these,” Toph lays a hand on the stone panel. “We put Warrior Princess on watch over there.” 

“So that’s why this place is such a mess,” Katara whispers. “I bet no one has come through the house in years. Why would they, when there’s a whole underground hideout you can access from the woods?”

“Yeah, that’s what your brother thinks, too.”

“Is anyone else inside?” Zuko asks.

Toph shakes her head. “Just bunker-girl. Sokka thinks there’s probably some sort of alarm system. So, better to go down this way and not try to hide ourselves. We can’t know that the woman down there is gonna be a friend, but it’s an educated guess. And if not...if it’s three against one, and it’s the three of _us_ , who would stand a chance?” 

“Yeah,” Zuko says, voice tight.

“Look, Sparky. That girl, whoever she is, is way too tall to be your nightmare of a sister.” Katara hadn’t even _considered_ that possibility.

“Good,” Zuko says. “I mean, this isn’t really Azula’s kind of trap, anyway. Too many of us, not enough escape routes for her. Plus, if my father knew what was inside of this place,” Zuko pauses, and Katara thinks of the pamphlets, “he’d just have had it burnt to the ground.”

“Always a good time with that family of yours.” Toph shakes her head. “Anyway, that’s the plan. And we prop the door so the others can get to us if anything goes wrong or we’re down there too long.” Toph pulls a stone bent into the shape of a doorstop out of a pocket. “So let’s go make a new friend.” She turns toward Katara. “Ready to turn on the charm, Sweetness?”

Katara rolls her eyes then turns to Zuko. “Are _you_ ready?” 

He takes a breath and nods solemnly before facing the panel inscribed with the scene from Roku’s wedding. Zuko practices his artbending form a couple of times then turns his concentration to the dark-centered rhododendron. At first, Zuko’s neat, narrow flame seems to simply disappear into darkness, but then golden light dances across the panel—illuminating the ceiling lanterns, the hearts of fire lilies, and finally, the irises of Roku’s eyes. The door creaks open, and a low chime resonates from below.

Before them, a staircase descends toward yet another closed door, just as Toph described. “Here we go,” Zuko whispers. He begins his descent, Katara and Toph at his heels. At the foot of the stairs, Toph moves forward to knock on the metal door, and Zuko stops her wrist. “ _What are you doing_?” he hisses.

“Don’t you know your manners, Sparky? Nothing says _we come in peace_ like a polite knock. Follow the damn plan.”

“Fine,” he says, voice tight.

For thirty tense seconds after Toph raps her fingers against the metal, nothing happens. Zuko reaches for the handle anyway, and Toph stops him, shaking her head. Sure enough, a latch clicks. 

The woman on the other side of the door is tall and wiry, clad in black, with skin even paler than Zuko’s and a large, aqualine nose. Inset gray eyes flick between them through a tangle of dark hair. If this is Ayana, she is not the delicate beauty Katara had pictured, with features as fine as her artform. 

For an uncomfortable beat they just stare at one another, the woman’s gaze lingering so openly on Zuko’s scar that Katara wonders when she last set foot in polite society. But then, with trained grace, the woman steps aside in a curtsey, beckoning them through the door. Katara and Zuko exchange an uneasy glance and follow her, Toph trailing behind them. 

They enter a wide, dimly lit hall scattered with more fine furniture and hundreds of books and pamphlets, stacked on shelves and piled on desks. Though these furnishings are not coated in dust like the ones upstairs, they all appear careworn—scratched wood and elegant chintz in various states of discoloration. Katara wonders if their host will beckon them to sit, but she continues her unabashed examination of Zuko’s face, striding to stand a mere arm’s length away from him. 

“I wondered when you would return,” the woman says after a few more moments of heavy silence. Zuko’s brows furrow. So this woman _had_ been here the first time they visited. And she had heard them—seen them? “Oh, forgive me. That is no way to greet the Avatar’s companions. And Prince Zuko,” the woman speaks with clear, fine diction, “welcome to the family home, cousin.” 

“Cousin,” Zuko repeats quietly. Hesitance, confusion, and hope play in quick succession across his features as the woman steps forward to wrap her arms around his neck. 

So she is Ayana, after all. She _must_ be. And how Zuko deserves this, Katara thinks, to find family that embraces him so freely. Katara smiles as Zuko begins to relax into his cousin’s grasp. 

But then Toph tenses beside her, and even the earthbender isn’t quick enough to stop the chopping at Zuko’s arms and the near instantaneous pinching of forefinger and thumb as Zuko is flipped around to face them, an artbender’s flame held like a glinting dagger to his throat. Horror flares in Zuko’s eyes—horror and embarrassment. 

“Stop it!” Katara summons water to her fingertips. “What are you doing? He’s on your side.” 

“On _my_ _side_.” The words are followed by tinny, bitter laughter. Could a water whip douse that narrow blaze? No, Katara thinks, not fast enough, not with the flame-knife held so close to Zuko’s jugular and windpipe. From Toph’s bearing beside her, Katara can tell this deadly proximity is the only reason the earthbender hasn’t plummeted Zuko’s assailant into the ground.

“You called me cousin…” Zuko rasps, trying to move as little as possible. His _stupid_ bravery. “You are Ayana, aren’t you?”

The tight white flame by Zuko’s neck flares. “Get her name out of your mouth, _Ozai’s filth_.” 

_Who is this woman?_ Steeling herself, Katara steps forward. “Zuko isn’t with his father anymore. He’s helping the Avatar take him down.” As the woman assesses her, Katara pulls a familiar pamphlet from the table beside her and holds it up with care. “You’re part of the group that made these, right? You were trying to spread the truth about what happened to my people. We want the same things.”

“If you’re really a _Southern waterbender_ ,” the woman eyes the liquid whip snaked around Katara’s wrist, “you should know better than anyone that Sozin’s line cannot be trusted. Let me take this soot stain off your hands. Trust me, you’ll be better off for it.” 

_Just keep her talking_. If Katara can get this woman’s guard to slip, then she or Toph can attack. “How can I trust you? I don’t even know who you are,” Katara says. “Start there, and maybe we can talk.”

“Oh, you think you’re in a position to make demands?” The woman tightens her grip around Zuko’s chest. “ _You’re_ the ones who broke into my safehouse.”

“Now, lady,” Toph cuts in, “gonna have to stop you there. Zuko used your special bending to get us in. Pretty sure that’s what counts as a key around here. Then we knocked. And you _so graciously_ let us inside.”

“Oh, and you have the estate key as well? I heard you all stomping around up there.” The woman pulls her flame-edge closer to Zuko’s throat—Katara can see the slight pinking of his skin from its heat. Could she pull water from somewhere behind the woman and surprise her? Katara feels in vain for a source.

“Listen, lady,” Toph continues, “anybody could get into that big old house, and you’ve let it fall to sorry shambles, so I’m not buying the outrage. It seems like we have the same enemy—and it’s not Sparky over there. But you’ve chi-blocked him anyway. So why don’t you drop your little fire-knife so we can have a civilized conversation?” 

“What, so you can sink me through the floor? I can see your stance, earthbender.” The line of Zuko’s skin where the flame presses closest is turning red and angry now. _No, no, no._ Katara’s heart rate spikes _._ The woman scoffs. “So this really is the Avatar’s earth and water retinue, then? Some teenage girls suckered by a Fire Prince? And this one isn’t even _handsome._ ”  
  
“ _This_ one,” Katara says slowly, turning the words over in her mind. “You knew Lu Ten, then.” Zuko’s eyes widen a fraction.

The woman’s features harden; her glare burns like ice, and Katara _knows_ this look. She saw the same expression on Jet’s face as he watched that Fire Nation town flood at his command. Surely she wore the same wrenched features as she hunted down her mother’s killer. Hurt turned feral, _rage_ at a foe too large to strike, finally finding a target. _But for what crime?_

“So you’re on a first name basis with all the Fire royals, waterbender? Even the dead ones?” The woman spits. “Do the men just pass you around?” 

Katara shakes off the comment, but it’s too much for Zuko; he begins to struggle. “ _How dare you_ —” His voice cuts off when the woman’s flame-wielding hand shakes, her fire-knife’s motion jagged. Katara can smell Zuko’s burning flesh, can see his muscles quiver— _no, no, no._

This is unbearable. 

He must not bear this.

_She will not let him._

Not when she can put an end to it. 

The moon lurks below the horizon, still one day shy of full—but Katara’s power and passion thrum through every muscle. 

She is _the last Southern waterbender_. Her soul was forged in sacrifice and suffering, but she _loves_ the world she and Zuko strive to lead out of inherited darkness—and she loves _him_. She would open her rawest, ugliest wound to spare his. She can. She does.

Katara has never wielded blood so precisely, but she’s spent days watching Zuko master the subtle art this woman brandishes with violence, so she knows the exact flexion of muscles. Katara sends her awareness through the woman’s veins, until she feels the fevered flow of two digital arteries. All it takes is a harsh jerk of Katara’s own hand, and in an awful instant, the woman’s fingers wrench apart with a harsh, unnatural snap. Zuko stumbles free, his neck red as raw meat. Wordlessly Toph makes her move, sealing the screaming woman’s hands and feet in stone bonds and trapping her on an earthen chair.

Katara helps Zuko to a divan, placing a hand behind him as he leans back. He blinks in pain, but he holds her gaze steadily. _Good_. At some point, the woman’s cries turn muffled and miserable—Toph must have found a way to cover her mouth. 

Katara summons water from her skein into her hands and brings them to Zuko’s neck. _Please, please, please_ — _he must not bear another scar inflicted by his own flesh and blood_. Katara pours every tender hope into her movements, and she can feel the skin and tissue knitting together under her palms. 

When Katara finally pulls her water free, Toph is at her side, holding onto Zuko’s hand, and his neck is pink, but the skin is soft and even. His other hand finds its way to Katara’s face, and only when she sees the shine of his palm does she realize tears are streaming down her cheeks. “I couldn’t lose you,” Katara whispers. “I couldn’t see you...suffer through that.”

“I’m okay.” He begins kissing the tears from her face. “I swear it was nothing... nothing like this.” He gestures to the scar on his face. “Thanks to you.” 

As she watched the flames sear Zuko’s skin, her choice had appeared so blazingly clear, but his admiration sends her heart plummeting. He doesn’t even know what she’s done. 

“I bent her blood, Zuko.” The words tumble from her mouth. Katara drops her head to her chest and refuses to look at him. Zuko lifts her chin and searches her face, frowning at the guilt she can feel weighing down every feature. 

“That’s what you did to the Southern Raiders’ captain,” he whispers. “Katara, you’re _incredible_.” _No, no, no._ She wrenches her face away from his grip. She feels doused by polar tides, her breaths coming too quick to catch. 

“Sweetness.” Toph places a firm hand on each of her arms. “Katara, listen to me. If I could have figured out a way to smash that woman’s hand without risking Sparky’s neck, I’d have done it in a heartbeat. No hesitation. I’d have shattered her fingers. Her whole arm if I needed to.”

“And if that was you in danger?” Zuko says somberly, running his thumb along Katara's palm. “I’d do anything. _Anything._ ” 

Katara shakes her head rapidly. They don’t understand—they will never carry this burden, this curse. 

“What did you really do, anyway, Sugar Queen? Hijack two of her fingertips for a split second? Bunker girl seems fully intact to me. Not a single broken bone.”

“That’s not it, though.” Katara’s voice sticks in her throat.

“What is it, then?” Zuko's eyes are unbearably kind.

Katara listens for the woman’s muffled cries, but she has fallen silent. Katara stares down at her hands. “I took the choice away from her.”

“Look, I know you and Twinkle Toes feel a certain way about this,” Toph says. “But I _always_ thought it was kind of sanctimonious hippo-bull hockey. We’ve all got powers that scare us sometimes.”

“I thought you weren’t afraid of anything,” Katara whispers.

“Well, not much anymore. But when I was first learning how to burrow through earth from the badgermoles, I once got so frustrated I made cave walls collapse around one of their babies. I’ll _never_ forget the sound she made. If my teachers hadn’t been so strong, I would have crushed the pup’s skull, no doubt about it. I didn’t want to bend for weeks after that.” Toph shudders at the memory, and Katara squeezes her arm.

“And I don’t need to talk to you about how destructive fire can be,” Zuko says softly, running his fingers in soothing zigzags through her hair.

 _It’s not the same_ , Katara wants to say. But how can she be so dismissive to Toph who so rarely shares vulnerable glimpses of her past? To Zuko, whose element has so harmed him?

“I think it’s especially tough for girls like us,” Toph adds. “Forces of nature, I mean. Being really powerful makes it possible for us to do so much more with our lives than being paraded around fancy-dress parties or sewing parkas or whatever your women do down South. But when you’re not raised to fight a war, no one trains you to handle those make-or-break moments, those life or death choices.” 

“I don’t want to be the one making those choices,” Katara says, feeling a sudden surge of empathy for Aang and his hesitancy to kill the Fire Lord.

“But I bet the moment you made the choice to save Zuko, it was really clear, wasn’t it?” Toph’s voice is unusually gentle. Katara nods slowly, but says nothing, so Toph presses on. “Just because that creepy old woman used her power in twisted ways doesn’t mean it can’t do great things. Like saving Sparky’s neck.” 

Katara appreciates the intention of Toph's words, but she doesn’t quite agree. She still believes there is something uniquely and inherently hideous about reaching into someone else’s body and imposing your will over the very blood that pumps their life, but Katara needs Zuko to know that she does not regret her choice. “I wouldn’t take back what I did.” Katara speaks with certainty, but even she can hear the exhaustion in her voice.

When she finally allows herself to meet Zuko’s gaze once more, he’s studying her with dawning sorrow. There are so few secrets between them at this point, and she wonders if holding this back has torn the fabric of trust between them. But then he says, “Look, we don’t have to talk anymore about this right now. But, Katara...I’m so sorry I put you in this position. I’m such an idiot. I walked right into her trap.”

“No,” Katara says, straightening her spine, strength trickling back into her voice. She finally turns back to the woman, who is looking between the three of them with wide eyes. “ _She_ used your good heart against you.”

Katara stands a little shakily, not letting go of Zuko’s hand. He rises with her. “Zuko, please stay,” she says. “Rest.”

“No.” He steps protectively closer. 

Katara runs her eyes over him; the color has returned to his face, the steadiness to his stance. “Alright.” Katara turns to Toph. “Take off the gag.” 

“You sure, Sugar Queen?”

“Yes,” Katara says. “I have questions for her.” 

Katara worries that the woman will start yelling again as soon as Toph removes the fabric across her mouth. Instead she speaks slowly, her voice barely audible—she sounds nearly apologetic. “I _wasn’t_ going to kill him.”

“Could have fooled me,” Toph bites out, but she frowns like something isn’t adding up.

Katara waits to see if the woman will say more, but she just glares between the floor and Katara and Zuko’s clasped hands. As Katara studies her up close, she realizes that this woman can’t be more than a few years older than Zuko. _Welcome to the family home, cousin._ Educated guesses haven’t served them well today, but Katara’s intuition spurs her on. 

“Tell me what happened to Ayana,” Katara says calmly. Narrow gray eyes blaze back at her. “That’s your sister, right?”

The woman still refuses to speak, but Katara notes the sharp clench of her jaw. “Something bad happened to her, and you’ve connected your anger about it to Zuko. Did the Fire Lord arrest her? Is that what this is about?”

The woman ignores her, turning to address Zuko. “Did your two-faced coward of a cousin brag about bedding her? Is that how you know her name?”

“Lu Ten was the most honorable person I’ve ever known, and one of the bravest,” Zuko says furiously. “How could you possibly—”

“Zuko, wait.” Katara takes one step closer to the glaring woman, and tries to sound calmer than she feels. “We found Lu Ten’s journals. That’s how we learned about Ayana, how we figured out to come here. We were looking for help from your group. Obviously things haven’t gone exactly to plan.” Katara takes a breath. “You know, Lu Ten cared for Ayana very much.”

“Oh _did_ he?” The woman sneers. “So _what_? He was the reason she—” She stops herself abruptly. 

“The reason she _what?_ ” Toph asks.

A sound from across the parlor startles all of them, and a look of relief crosses the woman’s face. But when footsteps draw closer, her expression twists with confusion. Suki, Sokka and Aang emerge from the far hallway. That wasn’t the door Toph propped, so how did they get in?

Behind them stride a man and woman, probably in their fifties. The woman carries the even features and golden eyes of Fire Nation nobility; the man bears the tan complexion often found in the southern Earth Kingdom. His kind gray eyes scour the scene urgently before rushing to where the younger woman is restrained.

“Iza! Are you alright? What did you do?” 

“What did _I_ do? You find your daughter imprisoned at our safehouse, and _that’s_ your question?”

“Guys, what the hell is going on?” Sokka walks over to Zuko, Katara and Toph. “Who’s this?”  
  
“Some _lunatic_ who tried to kill Sparky,” Toph answers, and the older woman’s eyes follow Sokka’s concerned gaze to the Fire Prince.

“You tried to—oh, Agni’s light.” The older woman walks over to get a better look at Zuko, whose flinch Katara only registers through a slight twitch of his fingers against her palm. “You look just like your mother.”

After what just happened, this woman’s words, proximity and familiarity set Zuko’s pulse galloping dangerously. But before Katara can tell her to back off, Aang makes his way to the center of the room. “Hey, everybody!” 

The Avatar commands the room’s attention easily, but then, diffusing tensions like this is his gift and his calling. Aang looks around the parlor, from the glaring, earth-bound woman—Iza—to his bending masters’ tense stances. 

When Aang’s eyes flick to Zuko and Katara’s clasped hands, Zuko loosens his grip, but Katara refuses to let go. She will not be parted from the steady beat of his pulse against her skin. The airbender’s gaze registers the utter exhaustion in Katara’s face before finding the patch of new, pink skin at Zuko’s neck, and he nods minutely. The Avatar knows Katara’s healing handiwork better than anyone.

“Clearly,” Aang says to the now-silent room, “we have some catching up to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I’m sorry to leave it here. I toyed with extending this further into the next scene, but it was truly information overload, and I really wanted to enter Zuko’s POV in this environment. 
> 
> But at least there was some Toph-being-a-good-friend-to-Katara, which I've been wanting to introduce for a while.
> 
> Next time, we catch up with the rest of the Gaang and our newest arrivals, and more Pai Sho tiles fall into harmony. We’re of course not done processing bloodbending and its implications. And if you notice some parallels with canon scenes yet to come...well, really, a lot of wheels are in motion now. I hope you’re still with me! 
> 
> Thank you all as always for your encouragement, which helps so much! Happy end of 20-stupid-20. Likely another two weeks before the next chapter, but I'll update sooner if I can manage it.


	13. Thicker than Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2021! (Or is it?? Maybe the jury’s still out on that one, but I hope your years are off to a good start.) Thank you for your patience as I teased through this...big boy of a chapter. I really hope you enjoy.
> 
> (And just a little logistical note to clarify that by aging up the characters in this story, I’ve shifted the periodization of certain events accordingly.)

_You look just like your mother._

In early childhood, when Zuko trailed Ursa around the palace like a noon-sun shadow, many at court had remarked upon their likeness. _How lovely that the young prince bears his mother’s fine eyes. Surely, even if he is talentless, he may grow as handsome as she is elegant._

But with each passing year—as the youthful softness of Zuko’s face yielded to his father’s sharp jaw and serious brow—his true parental resemblance grew unmistakable. This had been a point of boyhood pride. In the years before his banishment, Zuko would admire his own stoic features in his bathing chamber mirror and imagine standing nobly at his father’s side. How Ozai must have loathed every time someone remarked upon their likeness. Well, there’s one thing they can agree on now; as far as Zuko is concerned, obliterating that genetic looking glass is his scar’s only gift.

And yet this golden-eyed woman—the mother of his assailant—claims to see _Ursa_ in his face, words he hasn’t heard in over a decade. There are only two options. Either this woman is lying, or she has met his mother, but not his father. Either possibility demands further inquiry. 

This morning, Zuko had been prepared as he could be to meet new family—tamping down the familiar swirl of hope and dread had been easier with Katara and Toph at his side. That was before Iza opened her arms to him claiming to be kin and he crawled like a starving chip-mouse into her trap.

Unlike their daughter, the man and woman who arrived with Sokka, Suki and Aang are attired like nobility; the woman’s pale pink dress is tailored and pressed. Her features could have been copied directly from the palace’s hall of portraits, and she looks at Zuko like he is a ghost. Beside him, Katara bristles at the candid fascination with which the woman regards him.

Katara’s protectiveness would be adorable if it didn’t feel so embarrassingly necessary. Her grip on his hand feels less like a sign of affection than a lifeline, like they share veins, pumping the same blood. _Blood she could wield in one swift motion_. This stupidly powerful, beautiful girl who has let him into her heart, she will just keep impressing him. There’s nothing new about that. Yet to possess such an ability and turn away from it—this Zuko does not yet comprehend. But he does recognize what Katara looks like when she’s struggling to shake her darkness free. And this time it is because of him.

_Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to protect you._

Words from a distant memory—delivered in his mother’s strained voice—pair bitterly with the image of Katara’s face as she admitted what she’d done to free him. When will he be the one who gets to do the protecting? 

Only when Katara shifts at his side does Zuko realize that Aang has walked to the center of the room. He can feel the Avatar’s eyes on his and Katara’s clasped hands, and he tries to let go—upsetting Aang is a complication they do not need—but she will not release him. 

“Seems like we have some catching up to do,” isn’t exactly how Zuko would phrase it, but then, Zuko has never managed to settle a tense room with the sheer force of his good will. For a moment, the group glances around, still on edge.

“Uh, well,” Sokka wades in. “It seems like this morning has gone a little... _smoother_ for us, so I guess we’ll start. Suki?”

“Right, sure.” Suki looks toward where Toph, Zuko and Katara remain in a tight cluster, eyes snagging on the fresh patch of skin on Zuko’s neck. “I found these two,” Suki gestures to the woman in the pink robes and the man who arrived at her side, “heading for the back entrance. They seemed pretty freaked out about getting stopped on their own property.”

“Well, you’re just a touch intimidating, sweetheart,” the man says. Zuko examines him closely for the first time, taking in his crisp brown attire and kind gray eyes, folded with laugh lines. “But we cleared things up pretty quickly once we realized we’d found the Avatar’s retinue.” He frowns at his daughter. “Or we thought we did.” 

Katara and Zuko exchange a glance. This was the sort of interaction they’d been hoping for, expecting, even. Sensing their confusion, the older woman speaks. “We really should introduce ourselves, I think, dear.” She gestures to the man. “This is my husband Rizam, and my name is Shama.” She turns to Zuko. “Your great-grandparents, Avatar Roku and Ta Min were my mother’s parents.” Her gaze lowers. “And it seems you’re already acquainted with our daughter, Iza.”

“ _Acquainted_ is one way to put it.” Toph folds her arms across her chest. “Your daughter tried to kill Zuko.”

All eyes shift to the young woman cuffed in the earthen chair. “I really wasn’t going to kill him,” Iza insists again. Toph’s deepening frown confirms what Zuko had already suspected—Iza is telling the truth. 

“So you just burned Zuko’s throat open with a flame dagger for a lark?” Toph presses.

“Iza,” Shama’s elegant features twist in dismay, “we agreed not to do Prince Zuko any harm.” 

Katara stiffens beside him. “Can you please explain why you had a conversation about harming or not harming a person you claim is your _relative_?” She addresses the question at Shama, but it’s Iza who answers.

“Hurting your stupid boyfriend wasn’t my _intention_. You girls got in the way.” This is true too; Toph’s tight nod confirms it. Aang narrows his eyes in thought, and for a moment of strange, dizzying normalcy, Zuko worries that the Avatar is going to bug out about the use of the term boyfriend. But before Aang can speak, Iza turns back to her mother. “And I never agreed to your _plan_ . No one listened to me. It’s like you two don’t even _care_ about Ayana.”

“That is absolutely out of line, Iza.” Rizam’s eyes glint as flintlike as his daughter’s. 

“Ayana, that’s your other daughter, right?” Katara asks carefully, sensing her opening.

“And how do you know my mother?” Zuko meets the older woman’s amber eyes. “I know she didn’t have any siblings, and I’ve only heard of Avatar Roku having one daughter, so how is it possible you are who you claim to be _?_ ” 

“And what’s with this top secret bunker?” Toph adds.

Shama rubs her fingers in tight circles across her temple, and Aang holds up a steadying hand.

“Guys, give them a second.”

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go.” Shama glances to her husband before settling onto a threadbare settee. “I don’t really know where to begin.”

Rizam takes the seat beside his wife. “Why don’t you start with your family? I think they’ll want to know all of it.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Iza cuts in, rapping her fingers against her stone bonds. “ _Storytime_.”

"You tried things your way, Iza,” Rizam says, “and look where it got you. Now, let your mother speak.” 

“Fine,” Iza cranes her neck to face the Avatar. “But if we’re going to be subjected to the whole family annals, can I at least be allowed to sit on something soft? I promise I won’t touch your precious Fire Prince.” 

“Guys, what do you think?” Aang turns to Toph, Katara and Zuko. 

“I mean, she’s telling the truth,” Toph says, “for whatever _that’s_ worth after the stunt she pulled. But it really should be Sparky’s call.” And the thought of this rage-wired woman and her singeing fingers anywhere near him makes Zuko’s stomach churn, but he is not the weak princeling Iza thinks he is, and he wants her to know it.

“Let her out,” Zuko says.

Katara tugs on his arm. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s fine.” Zuko speaks with commanding heat and forces himself to hold Iza’s eyes until she looks away. 

Freed from Toph’s earthen lockup, Iza sulks to the puffy, oxblood velvet chair farthest from where her parents sit. Shama’s eyes linger sorrowfully on her daughter. 

“Prince Zuko,” Rizam takes his wife’s hand and offers Zuko a steady bow of his head. “I want you to know that we mean you no harm. My wife especially has looked forward to meeting you very much.” 

“I have,” Shama confirms, reaching for her necklace’s gold pendant and twisting it gently before letting the delicate rhododendron fall back against her pale skin. “And you are correct that Ursa has no siblings. But Avatar Roku and Ta Min did have a second daughter. My mother, Aya.”

“Forgive my impudence,” Zuko tries to remember his court manners. “My mother told me very little about her family before she—was gone, so I had to research on my own, and I don’t ever remember reading anything about Roku’s other daughter, only my grandmother.”

“Rina,” Shama nods. “A very kind and dutiful woman.” 

“You knew my grandmother, then,” Zuko tries to keep the wretched hope out of his voice, “and you claim to know my mother. Do you know where she is?”

“So you believe Ursa is alive as well.” Shama breathes in an eager rush. “I’m sorry to say that I last saw your mother many years ago, before you were born, but I have long hoped that she escaped to safety.” 

Zuko finally allows himself to consider the kindness in Shama’s eyes. Toph has not signaled that Shama is lying, but he cannot allow himself to be suckered by these people a second time. “You were telling us of your mother, and why there is no record of her.”

“Yes,” Shama closes her eyes. “It does not surprise me that my mother’s name doesn’t appear in the court histories. She was nearly a decade younger than Rina, born after Grandfather Roku confronted the Fire Lord about his imperial ambitions and torched the palace. That...rather alienated the Avatar from royal society and its scribes.”

“I can imagine it did.” Zuko frowns at the memory of the sycophantic scribes of his father’s court, who ceased recording his growth charts when he failed to bend before his fifth birthday.

“Yes, well, after that, Grandfather focused his efforts as Avatar primarily outside of the Fire Archipelago, hoping to shore up the strength of the other nations, and he brought his family with him. And then, when my mother was sixteen, she ran away. So I think it likely the royal court never learned of her existence, which would have suited her aims quite well.”

“Her father was the Avatar, and she ran away?” Katara asks.

Shama sighs. “My mother was always...fiercely passionate about her opinions.”

“You can just say she was a crazy zealot,” Iza cuts in.

Shama’s lips twitch downward, but she ignores the provocation. “My mother didn’t agree with Grandfather Roku’s choices as Avatar. When they traveled across the Earth Kingdom, it became clear that Fire Lord Sozin had actively disregarded all of Grandfather’s warnings—and still, Grandfather couldn’t bring himself to do what was necessary. The way Mother told it, she simply could not bear her father’s inaction when the whole world hung in the balance. So she left to seek out others who were working against the Fire Lord in secret.”

“Did she find them?” Sokka asks.

“Some, not many. And only a few years later, Sozin left my Grandfather to perish in his home.” Shama shakes her head. “After that, Grandmother Ta Min returned here, to her family’s estate. She and her daughters were the last of her family line, so Grandmother was utterly alone, and my mother returned to Ember Island to be by Grandmother’s side.”

Shama turns to address Zuko directly. “You wouldn’t know this because all records have either been erased, sealed away or hidden, but your great-grandmother Ta Min came from an ancient and prominent Fire Nation family. Her ancestors originated the firebrush form that you clearly have mastered very quickly, if you made your way here not a week after your first visit.”

“So you _did_ hear us when we first came here,” Katara says.

“You were a little hard to miss,” Rizam says. “The estate may look abandoned, but we have a rather sophisticated monitoring system."

“I knew it!” Sokka pumps his fist. “How does it work? Soundpipes? Mirrored peepholes in the mural? I’ve been thinking it would make sense to—”

“Sokka,” Suki speaks with concealed amusement. “Maybe we get the full specifications another time?”

“Right, sure.” 

“Why didn’t you come up to meet us when we were here?” Katara asks. 

“You rather caught us off guard,” Rizam says. “We had been following reports of the Avatar and his companions, and we had certainly heard the rumors of Prince Zuko joining you, but we had no idea you were on the island. And we were,” he glances briefly at Iza, “not in full agreement about what to do next.”

“We thought it was nearly certain that you would return,” Shama adds. “Otherwise we would have sought out your hideaway so that we could speak with you.”

“So you mean Zuko didn’t even need to learn how to artbend?” Sokka asks.

“That’s what we’ve been calling the firebrush technique,” Zuko hastily amends. “We didn’t know its true name.”

Shama and Rizam share an amused glance. “Well, you’ve done well, learning it all on your own. That takes true talent.” Zuko can’t help the flush of pride. “Before Sozin’s reign,” Shama continues, “it was the mark of a powerful bender to wield the firebrush with precision. And at the time of their marriage Avatar Roku and Ta Min were seen as the bastion of the Fire Nation’s bright future, even more so than the young Fire Lord, in some circles.”

“I bet Sozin hated that,” Zuko says. 

“Yes, I imagine that he did.” Shama takes a steadying breath. “I don’t need to tell you of the uncountable lives lost or harmed because of what Fire Lord Sozin set in motion when he left my grandfather to die, what leaving the world without a fully realized Avatar meant for all of us. And in many ways that has become Grandfather’s legacy. In the Fire Nation, he is viewed as an enemy to righteous expansion. In the other nations, he is the Avatar who failed to curb his nation’s evil ambitions.”

Aang steps forward, a determined set to his features. “Avatar Roku has been a wise and patient guide to me. And in the future,” Aang’s voice falters, just for a moment. “I will work to make sure that he is remembered as he deserves.”

Shama bows her head. “Thank you, Avatar Aang. That would do great honor to our family.” 

Katara shifts gently at Zuko’s side. “Who made the artwork in the sitting room upstairs? It’s a stunning tribute to Avatar Roku.”

Shama’s returning smile is gracious. “My mother and grandmother worked on that piece together.”

“But I thought you said your mother ran away because of her issues with Roku,” Toph says.

“My mother disagreed with Grandfather about his work as Avatar, yes, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love him. I don’t think when she ran away as a fired up sixteen-year-old, she expected that she would never see her father again.” Zuko can feel Katara shudder, and he squeezes her hand gently. “And for Grandmother,” Shama sighs, “she watched her love’s legacy fall to ash at the hand of the man he’d claimed as a best friend. There was—a lot of grief to pour into those panels upstairs.”

“Well, they’re incredible,” Zuko says. “Better than anything I ever saw at the palace.”

“Thank you, Prince Zuko,” Shama says. “My mother and grandmother were both true bastions of our family gift.” 

“Like Ayana,” Iza adds.

Shama takes a low, wavering breath, then turns to Katara. “How did you come to know the name of our older daughter?”

“We discovered a collection of Prince Lu Ten’s journals. That’s how we found our way here.” 

Shama squeezes her eyes shut painfully. “I see.”

“I don’t want to upset you,” Katara says with care. “It’s just...you speak as though we shouldn’t know who Ayana is, and—”

“Why are you so desperate to know, anyway, waterbender?” Iza spits.

“Because she seemed like a _wonderful person_ , that’s why,” Katara bites back, before glancing apologetically at Shama. “I mean no offense.”

“I can see that, dear,” Shama says, “and Ayana is part of this story, too. But perhaps,” Shama glances to her still-scowling daughter, “perhaps it is best if I go in order.”

“Of course,” Katara demurs.

“Thank you, Shama,” Aang adds. “I know all of this must be painful to recount.” For a moment, Zuko can see the leader Aang might have grown into had he not spent a century lodged beneath the sea—wise, kind, diplomatic—just the right Avatar for a world at peace, the leader he deserves the chance to become. “Your mother’s return to Ember Island must have been a great comfort to Ta Min,” Aang says. “I haven’t had a chance to see their artwork yet, but my people always believed that creating living spaces that inspire awe was a way of feeling spiritually connected.”

“I think their artwork _was_ very devotional for them,” Shama says, “but barely a year after Grandfather died, Sozin started purging the Capital libraries and galleries of firebrush works. He did this quietly at first, then through a formal decree. So that became my mother’s mission—there was always a mission with Mother. She had Grandmother contact Fire Sages she knew remained loyal to Avatar Roku to construct the seals for this space, and she traveled around the Fire Nation rescuing books and artwork. All of it is stored safely within these protected walls, where it will remain.”

“That is truly admirable work,” Katara says.

“So that’s what your group does?” Sokka asks, voice eager. “You rescue texts that the Fire Nation has banned?”

“That was how Mother’s work began, yes.” Shama turns back to Aang. “but everything changed after Sozin’s comet. My mother had been so focused on searching down firebrush work that she didn’t notice the way the Fire Lord had entirely hijacked the national narrative. All Air Nomad texts had been pulled from libraries, and new histories were written that portrayed the peace-loving Nomads as warlike. 

“So when Sozin claimed that his heinous genocide was preemptive defense, people actually _believed_ him. Or they were too indifferent or afraid to object. But Mother went around and found those who _did_ question what happened. That is how she met my father, an outspoken Calderan writer who had gone into hiding. And she looked everywhere for a secret organization her father had mentioned, dedicated to the protection of the Avatar.”

“The Order of the White Lotus,” Zuko says.

“You know it?” 

“My Uncle is a member.”

“Your Uncle,” Rizam says solemnly, “from everything I have read, would have made our first good Fire Lord in a century.”

Warm pride swells in Zuko’s chest. “We are in full agreement on that.” 

“If your mother was working with the White Lotus, then why is everything here marked with rhododendrons?” Suki asks.

“Mother could never _find_ the Order. If they were active in those years, they were far underground.” Shama nods to Aang. “Probably looking for you.”

“But,” Rizam adds, “when my mother-in-law began gathering followers, she wanted to signal that her work was aligned with theirs. In _harmony_ you might say.”

Zuko smacks his forehead. “More Pai Sho,” he mumbles. 

“What do you mean?” Katara pulls on his sleeve.

“The rhododendron is a Pai Sho tile,” Shama explains. “It forms a harmony with the White Lotus, and always begins at the centerpoint of the board. Mother was fond of the idea that our group was like a pivot point, for those whose minds we changed. But the White Lotus never got in contact that I am aware of. So Mother set her own goals for the Rhododendron Society, which we maintained throughout the time we were active.” 

“ _Were_ active,” Suki repeats slowly. “You’re not operating anymore?”  
  
“Not for these last eight years,” Shama says, fingers fidgeting with her skirt; the words set Zuko’s stomach churning. Eight years ago—the year Lu Ten died in Ba Sing Se, the year Ozai took the throne, the year Zuko’s mother disappeared from his life. 

“What _were_ your goals, then?” Sokka asks.

“One was to work against Sozin, then Azulon,” Shama says. “The other was to try to find any remaining airbenders and help them find sanctuary, which I aided with when I was old enough.”

“Remaining airbenders?” Aang’s voice is small.

Rizam clears his throat. “There were rumors about monks traveling between the Air Temples at the time of the comet,” he says, and before Aang can excitedly interject, Rizam continues. “We know that Fire Lord Sozin had special forces designated to the task of—luring them with relics. It was—it was hideous business.”

Shama shares a glance with her husband before turning her soft gaze toward Aang. “I have never—we have never—believed that these efforts were exhaustive. But in our decades of searching, the only people of airbender descent that my team found were non-benders, children and grandchildren of those who left monastic life.” 

“And these people,” Aang’s trying, badly, to conceal the emotion from his voice. “Did any of them join you?”

“Some certainly did. Myself included,” Rizam says, holding Aang’s shining gray eyes with his own. “You—you might imagine how much I have looked forward to meeting you... How moved I was to see your tattoos when you found us.”

Aang swallows, gaze bright, voice thick. “I would like to speak with you more, if that would be alright.”

“It would be my honor, Avatar Aang.” Rizam says. Beside him, Zuko can see tears gathering at the edges of Katara’s eyes. Even Iza’s expression has softened.

Zuko opens his mouth to speak, then pauses. He doesn’t want to interrupt this moment, but when Aang notices Zuko’s hesitation, the Avatar nods for him to continue. “You said your group was working against the crown as well...what did that entail?”

“Yes,” Shama says. “My mother saw how effectively Sozin had turned the people against the Air Nomads, just by controlling the information they were told. And so a lot of the group’s early work was spreading knowledge. Mother liked the idea of turning the firebrush into an ideological weapon against the crown. But this work was always slow-going. People are not so inclined to abandon their lives for the sake of an idea when they are safe and well-fed, and while Mother was dedicated to her cause, she was not rash—”

“Ice cold and calculating, more like,” Iza mutters.

“I am not going to argue about this with you in front of our guests, Iza,” Shama says with a sigh.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Toph interjects. “If you all have been working against the Fire Lords for _so long_ , how come no one’s ever heard of you? How come you never...accomplished anything?”

“Don’t be rude, Toph,” Katara warns.

“They’re fair questions,” Shama says. “Early on, my parents were nearly caught on Shuhon Island, and many of their followers were captured and imprisoned. After that, the group moved in secret, only sharing materials with people they had reason to believe would be sympathetic to the cause. They established headquarters here on Ember Island, where we knew we had a strong safehouse.” Shama gestures around them. “This is where I was raised. It didn’t always look like...this. It was beautiful here, once.” 

A certain elegance lingers, still, Zuko realizes, and he tries to imagine how this space might have looked with freshly lacquered mahogany, books neatly stacked in their cases, and new, gold-threaded upholstery.

“Sorry, that—doesn’t matter.” Shama runs her thumb along a rip in the seat of her settee. “We also turned our attention away from large-scale rebellion and more toward intelligence gathering and quietly sabotaging the Fire Nation war machine.” She turns to Katara. “Not unlike your work in Jang Hui.”  
  
“You know about that?” Katara asks with a quiet pride that tugs at Zuko’s heart.  
  
“Well, as I mentioned, we had already been following tales of the Avatar. We may not be active anymore, but we still have information sources, and we took the liberty of doing additional research after you and Prince Zuko arrived in the estate sitting room last week.”  
  
“ _Why_ aren’t you active anymore?” Zuko takes a steadying breath. “What happened eight years ago?” 

“Your most _honorable_ _and brave_ Prince Perfect got himself into trouble, that’s what happened.” This time Zuko is clear-headed enough to hear the pain that mingles with the bitterness in Iza’s tone.

“You _know_ that’s unfair.” Shama turns to Zuko once more, an apology in her eyes. “We only met Prince Lu Ten once, under a fake name, but he seemed like a fair-minded and compassionate young man from everything Ayana told us.”

This sparks a flicker of remembered anger in Zuko. “There’s one thing I don’t understand—and forgive me for the undignified question. We read that Ayana was sent to seduce Lu Ten. Did you really use your daughter that way?”

“Oh no, that wasn’t them,” Iza cuts in. “That was my grandmother’s evil, messed-up nightmare of a plan all the way. Even her favorite granddaughter was just a pawn to her.”

Zuko looks to Shama for confirmation. She’s tugging her gold necklace again and her expression looks haunted. “I don’t think that’s exactly—” she sighs. “My understanding is that my Mother suggested Ayana get close to Lu Ten when they met by chance. And I beg you not to judge Ayana too harshly. She—she loved Prince Lu Ten very much.” Zuko can hear Iza grumbling under her breath.

“Ten years ago, our family was living in Yu Dao,” Rizam says. “We always visited my mother-in-law here at headquarters for a few weeks at the end of every summer. Ayana had just turned 18, and when she asked to spend the whole season on Ember Island with her grandmother, we thought it would be a good opportunity for her.”

“Ayana was always big-hearted and idealistic,” Shama says. “And we had recently received truly harrowing reports of the horrors our armies had been performing in the South.” Shama glances between the Water Tribe siblings. “We had long suspected this was the case, but the accounts surpassed our worst fears. Ayana was especially heartbroken about what she learned.”

Katara reaches for the pamphlet she had shown Iza earlier. “Did she create this?”

Shama nods. “As Iza mentioned, Ayana was especially gifted with the firebrush. She made many of our materials, including that series of pamphlets.”

“I would’ve really liked to meet her,” Katara says with the earnest compassion that endears her to everyone she meets. 

“Perhaps if…” Shama glances to Rizam. “Perhaps someday you can.”

“So Ayana is alive, then,” Zuko blurts before he can think better of it, then winces at his tactlessness. 

“Yes, according to our sources. Or at least, she was at the time your sister infiltrated the Earth Kingdom capital.” 

Zuko feels the icy crawl of dread up his spine. “What does Azula have to do with this?” 

“Our daughter Ayana,” Rizam says, “has spent the last eight years in a high-security prison in Ba Sing Se.” 

“Lake Laogai,” Aang says hollowly.

“You know it?” Shama asks.

“Unfortunately,” Katara says, shuddering.

“How...how did she end up there?” Zuko asks, though he knows he won’t like the answer.

“She was trying to save Prince Lu Ten from an assassination attempt.”

“By my father’s men,” Zuko says darkly.

Shama and Rizam exchange a tense glance. “The Fire Lord spoke of this to you?”

“No, no,” Zuko holds a placating hand in front of him. “My father would never have trusted me with that information. But Lu Ten wrote of what he learned—from your group—about Father’s machinations. It’s not a difficult leap, unfortunately.” Zuko forces himself to meet Shama’s eyes, then Rizam’s. “My father is a monster, and I am sorry to hear that your daughter got caught in the crosshairs of his evil actions.”

Shama bows her chin with noble poise. “And you should know that we do not hold you accountable for your father’s choices. I always held out hope that Ursa’s goodness would shine through in her children.”

“About a fifty-fifty success rate on that,” Toph mutters.

“Shama,” Katara ventures gently, “may I ask a question about Ayana and Lu Ten?”

“Yes, of course.” Not for the first time, Zuko notes the way Shama’s eyes linger on his and Katara’s clasped hands. 

“The journals we found—they ended when Lu Ten left for Ba Sing Se, and he and Ayana weren’t together anymore. Did—” Katara swallows, “were they able to reconcile?”

Shama shakes her head. “When Lu Ten discovered Ayana’s...agenda and asked her to leave him alone, she respected his wishes. We were on the island for our annual visit by that time, and she was inconsolable, absolutely devastated that she had hurt him. I believe he was her first love, and I don’t think she ever got over what happened between them.

“Nearly two years later, when we received intelligence that Ozai was plotting against Prince Iroh and his son once more, Ayana took it upon herself to intervene. None of us could stop her. For almost a year, we thought she had died alongside the Prince. My mother passed believing that Ayana was gone, and none of us were—we just couldn’t go on with our work. But then one of our Earth Kingdom contacts found evidence that Ayana was in that hateful prison. We’ve been trying to figure out how to get her out ever since, but it’s not...a simple rescue mission.”

“Because of the brainwashing,” Sokka says, voice flat. Rizam nods, and Zuko notices Iza stiffen in her chair. 

Zuko’s throat feels tight and dry. “What your daughter tried to do for Lu Ten—that was very brave and honorable.” Shama and Rizam both smile sadly at him, but something snaps in Iza.

“ _Honorable?_ ” Iza jumps to her feet. “You royal _morons_ and your stupid honor! What nonsense. It was foolish, is what it was, and now she’s _gone_ .” She glares at Zuko with utter disdain. “I will never understand what it is about you _useless_ princelings that makes otherwise strong and talented women lose their heads.” 

“Stop it, Iza!” Shama snaps.

“No, Mom! It’s true. I mean, look at the waterbender.” Iza throws her arm in Katara’s direction, and Zuko takes an instinctive step in front of her. “That girl’s even more powerful than we realized. The only reason my plan failed is because she literally _bent my blood_ , which I didn’t even know was _possible_.” When Iza pauses, the silence in the room is needle-sharp. “And despite the fact that his family literally genocided her people, she’s _definitely_ spreading her legs for Prince Scarface.”

Before Zuko can even form his indignation into syllables, Aang clears his throat. “You’ve got it all wrong, Iza,” the Avatar says.

The rage burning through Zuko’s limbs freezes to dread. Will Aang try to deny Zuko and Katara’s involvement? Will he _condemn_ it? Will he admonish her bloodbending? Will he try to deny that she did so at all?

“Katara,” Aang speaks her name carefully, “is the last waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe. Her mother was killed by Fire Nation soldiers. And she has the surest heart of anyone I’ve ever known.” Aang takes a slow, steady breath. “If she has learned to love Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, who abandoned a life of comfort and glory to fight for what is right, then that is a sign of strength, Iza, not the opposite. That is a sign that our world can heal. What,” Aang swallows, “what could be more beautiful than that?”

Beside him, Katara covers her face with both of her hands, and Zuko pulls her to his chest. He cannot look Aang in the eye, but he can feel the Avatar’s attention on the two of them. Zuko doesn’t understand everything that’s shifting around them; it’s too much; he wants to whisk Katara away from all of it; he can feel _everyone’s_ gaze on them—well, nearly everyone. 

“What was _your_ grand plan anyway, Iza?” Thank Agni for Toph. Zuko looks up to see Iza folding her arms across her chest.

“She was going to try to trade Zuko.” Suki says suddenly. The Kyoshi Warrior walks closer to Iza, Sokka following swiftly after her.

“That’s right, isn’t it?” Sokka asks. “You were going to try to haul Zuko to long-lost cousin Azula all by yourself and do some kind of messed up sibling-hostage swap.”

A frown line creases between Iza’s thick brows. “You don’t understand,” her voice breaks. “I would do anything to get my sister back.”

“Oh, I understand better than you think,” Sokka says. “You’d better believe there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for Katara—or anyone in my family. And you’re pretty damn lucky your parents are so nice, because you didn’t only insult my sister just now,” Sokka points to Zuko, “you attacked my brother.” 

And damnit, stupid Sokka is going to make him tearbend.

Iza doesn’t apologize, but she at least possesses the prudence to shut up and return to her seat. Katara eases her grip on Zuko and begins running a soothing hand along his back. He _aches_ to be alone with her—to be back in their bed, on their balcony, in a leaky tent, anywhere but here—but he tries to maintain his composure.

“So we know Iza’s plan for meeting us.” Aang turns to Shama and Rizam. “What was yours?”

“To speak with you directly, of course.” Rizam says. “This conversation certainly did not begin the way we had planned, but it would be an honor to aid you in your efforts to take down the Fire Lord and restore balance to the world.”

“We do not have the active network we once did,” Shama adds. “But we still have many contacts we know are aligned with our cause, and yours, and I believe we can still be of help to you in your fight.” She turns to Zuko, “and to you, as you work to restore peace, stability and knowledge to our people. If you would accept our help.”

“Yes,” Aang and Zuko say at once, and Zuko finally allows himself to meet the Avatar’s eyes. The hurt is obvious. Of course it is, but he also finds understanding, gravity—and, Zuko realizes—hope. And when Aang offers him a half-smile, Zuko lets himself hope, too.

The group makes plans to reconvene for further discussion. Not even Sokka feels up to talking logistics after such a heavy morning. Aang is eager to stay longer and speak with Rizam—and perhaps avoid walking back to the house with Zuko and Katara—and Toph decides to stay, too. None of them are willing to leave the Avatar unaccompanied this close to the comet.

As they discuss when to meet the following day, Zuko realizes that Katara is no longer at his side. He scans the room until he finds her in the last place he would have expected—seated on a chair beside Iza. They are speaking in low, serious voices, and for the first time that day, Zuko sees Iza’s eyes flicker with warmth.

* * *

The instant they walk through the doors of the Royal Residence, Zuko announces that he wants to rest. No one stops him, nor do Suki or Sokka make a single snide comment when Katara follows him without a word. 

He’s barely closed the bedroom door when Katara twines her arms around his chest and squeezes so tightly she nearly cuts off his air.

“Hey, hey,” Zuko whispers into her hair, summoning warmth to his palms and rubbing soothing circles into her back. “We’re okay. I’m okay.”

“I know,” she breathes. “But you almost weren’t, and I…” She shakes her head against his chest. “I just need to feel you.”

“Come on,” Zuko says, tugging her toward bed. What a relief it is to be safe within these familiar walls cluttered with Uncle’s favorite landscapes, to settle into the soft fabrics of the bed they’ve come to share.

When they lay down, Katara climbs fully onto him, nestling her head below his chin and drawing slow circles against his ankles with her toes. Zuko is reminded of the way they held one another less than 24 hours before, naked and giddy, on a beach blanket under the stars. That feels almost like a remembered, perfect dream, and yet, he feels just as close to her now—maybe closer. He didn’t even notice the tightness that still gripped his chest until it finally eases. “I needed this, too, Katara,” he tells her. 

Katara lifts her chin to face him, and he allows his gaze to linger on the way the afternoon sun gilds her smooth brown skin. “You were really...regal today, Zuko,” she says. “Commanding but kind. And I know you’re a prince, but, after what happened—I don’t know how you did it.”

“Well, I did have someone holding my hand the whole way,” he says, teasingly.

Katara offers him a watery smile and traces a finger along the sensitive new skin at his throat. “Any pain?” She asks.

“None,” Zuko says. “Thanks to you.” He pulls a smooth curl behind her ear, and places a kiss on her temple. 

“And how are you feeling,” she slides a hand over his chest, “about—everything?” 

“Overwhelmed.” Zuko shakes his head. “I’ve been thinking a lot about something Uncle told me, the only time he spoke to me at all when I visited him in prison.”

“What did he say?”

“That understanding the struggle between my two great-grandfathers would help me grasp the good and evil that were at war inside of me. That because I was the descendant of both Sozin and Roku, I could resolve the legacy of the Fire Nation.”

“Wow,” Katara says. “No pressure, Uncle Iroh.”

“Yeah, well, he was trying to get through to me after I betrayed him, so I can’t exactly blame him for laying it on a little thick.” 

“Yeah, fair enough.” 

“When Uncle said it, I thought he meant that my father’s family was evil and my mother’s family was good, which didn’t seem too helpful because Mom was gone, and I didn’t know she _had_ any living relatives. I guess part of me had been hoping that if I met my mother’s family today...they would give me some sort of secret knowledge or strength that would help me fulfill my destiny. It sounds pretty silly when I say it out loud.”

“It doesn’t sound silly to me,” Katara squeezes his arm. “Back home, we believe that our family is what makes us strong.”

“Well no offense to Shama and Rizam—I hope they really can help us. But it’s not some strangers in a bunker that make me strong,” Zuko says. “Uncle made me strong, and now you guys make me stronger. Toph and Sokka and Suki and Aang—and you, you most of all.”

“Good thing you’re stuck with us, then,” she says, then quieter. “You make me stronger, too, you know.” 

“Well then Agni help anyone who gets in your way, because I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Her voice starts out playful, then falters.

“Can I ask you something, Katara?”

“Of course.”

“What did you talk to Iza about, while the rest of us were making plans?”

“Oh,” Katara studies his face briefly. “I talked to her about Lake Laogai. I think part of what upset Iza so much was the idea that even if they got Ayana back that she’d...just be a shell. She didn’t say that to me, of course. She didn’t say much at all. But I think that’s why she was willing to go to Azula. Because if your sister controls the Dai Li, then she has access to those wretched hypnosis machines. I wanted Iza to know that my healing can help with the brainwashing. It has before.”

“You...” Zuko takes a breath. “How is it possible that you are so good?”

“I’m not. I just know how it can twist you up inside, when you’d do anything to get back the person who matters most.” Katara swallows and looks out the window toward the sea. “I _bent her blood_ , Zuko.”

“Can you help me understand why that is so upsetting for you?” He asks. “I know you tried, but...I don't really get it.”

“Bloodbending," Katara's lips twist downward, "it isn’t just taking over someone’s body. They’re—they’re still in there. They can see and feel what’s happening.”

“I’m not saying that it’s a—nice thing to do,” Zuko says carefully. “But you heard Toph—she would have shattered Iza’s arm. And me? I was standing there thinking about how I could snap her neck without getting mine burned open. If I’d done it, Iza would have lost her ability to see or feel _anything,_ permanently _._ But you were able to stop her without even causing her pain. I think there may be...possibilities here that you’re not considering.”

“Maybe,” Katara says, sounding defeated.

“Katara.” Zuko waits for her to meet his gaze. “What haven’t you told me?”

“It’s not a good story, Zuko.”

“Well, it matters to you, so I want to know.” 

Katara is right, of course. It’s an ugly story, the tale of the waterbender who was imprisoned so long she learned to control the blood of rats and men, who enacted her revenge against innocent Fire Nation citizens, who forced her war-warped legacy onto Katara. His heart lurches as he pictures the girl he loves standing in a field of fire lilies drained of color and life, as he imagines her breaking down and seizing the old woman’s blood to save Aang and Sokka. 

“That’s what you did for me.” 

“Not exactly,” Katara says. “With Hama, I didn’t even decide. I just acted. But today...today I made a choice.”

“To save my life,” Zuko says.

“I—Spirits, Zuko. I _couldn’t_ lose you. I’d have bent every ounce of blood in that woman’s body not to lose you.” Her words make his heart beat faster. “But that wasn’t even what I was thinking about when I did it.”

“Tell me,” he whispers.

Katara lightly traces her fingers along the edges of his scar. “The worst moment of your life,” she says, “I know how it can suck you back in like—like it never stopped happening. Like you can still smell it. And when Iza held that fire so close to your skin, to your _face_...I couldn’t imagine what that must have brought up for you. I just…I couldn’t let you bear that. Not when I knew I could stop it.” Katara swallows and searches his eyes. “Not when I love you _so much_.” 

Zuko tries to remember how to breathe. There’s a next part, he knows—his part—and even though every cell in his body feels like it’s shouting back to her, he needs to actually form the words. So he cards each of his hands into her hair, pulls her forehead to his, and tells her.

_I love you._

After everything, he finds that the truest words he’s ever spoken aren’t that hard to say. So he says them again and again, until she stops him with her lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading your speculation and ideas in the comments has been really fun for me, and I hope the answers that have begun to unravel here continue to intrigue/satisfy. I know this doesn’t resolve every question, and I’m looking forward to exploring the fallout and the possibilities, and letting these two intense kids love each other with clear eyes on the cusp of the unknown.
> 
> Thank you for sharing your thoughts and ideas, your <3s and your encouragement. They’re wonderful fuel for the writing engine, and I hope you've continued/will continue to enjoy this story.
> 
> Also one more logistical note because I apparently have no restraint and I just puzzled over this endlessly: I’ve made the choice here not to try to retcon canon timelines for Zuko’s ancestry, but they’re honestly wild on both sides, especially Roku and Ta Min’s. For the sake of not adding an entire generation into Ursa’s family tree, the headcanon underneath the text here is that fertility and life spans are generous in this world. 
> 
> Okay, that's all! Until next time, sending love out and gratitude out to all of you.


	14. Dreams, Plans and Ideals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk about feelings with your boys; talk about geopolitics with your girls.

Love, Katara thinks, is a little like waterbending—how it can surge in tidal waves then soothe so gently. Somehow the rush of exchanging pleasure with Zuko on a white-sand beach and the solace they offer one another under shared blankets are motions of the same gift. And Katara is grateful.

When she pulls back from his lips, Zuko’s eyes are stirred liquid gold. From the way his pupils track across her face, she knows he’s drinking her in, too. Even with their friends, he is often so formal and guarded that it feels heart-achingly special to be the one who gets to see him like this. “Just for me,” she whispers.

“Yes,” he says, absolutely serious, then repeats. “I _love_ you, Katara.”

And it’s so much more confident than the breathless, halting way he first spoke the words just moments ago that Katara can’t help smiling. “You’ve mentioned a couple times now.”

“Well, you said it first, so...”

“So I won?” 

“No, I am _definitely, definitely_ the winner in this scenario.”

“But _I’m_ the one who won the heart of the handsome prince.” 

Zuko’s lips twitch downward. “You don’t have to do that, you know—pretend that this,” he gestures to the scarred part of his face, “is anything other than it is.” Iza’s words echo in Katara’s mind. _And this one isn’t even handsome._

Katara trails a finger along Zuko’s strong, perfect jawline, up to the edge of his scar. “You think I can’t keep my eyes off you because I’m pretending, Zuko?” He turns his face away from her waiting palm, so she catches his cheek with her other hand, placing her thumbs on either side of his lips and holding his gaze. 

“You’re so gorgeous—and this,” she plants a kiss on his scarred brow, “is just—it’s just part of you. I wish you didn’t carry the pain it represents, but…” Katara shakes her head. “Zuko, you’re so attractive it used to make me _furious_ when you first joined us.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. I’d just get so _mad_ that you had the nerve to walk around with no shirt and that smoldering glare. I don’t think I even understood why I was so bothered.” She rustles closer to his muscled chest. “I _sure_ get it now, though.”

“Says the beautiful blue-eyed dream girl who used to yell at me wearing just her wrappings. Now _that_ was confusing.”

“Oh, is that what you’re into?” Katara slides her leg over his. “You want me to strip down and scold you for getting in my way?” 

Zuko’s face flushes. “I think it’s pretty clear that I’m into whatever you do.”

“That’s something we have in common, then,” Katara murmurs against his lips. And she _does_ love that she can push Zuko, and he’ll give it right back to her, that their affection can run as wild as it does tender. She often daydreams about tackling him after a heated debate or his strong hands pinning her to the earth after a spar. She looks forward to recreating the urgency from the beach, to grasping and biting and pressing and making him fall apart for her.

But after the ordeals of this day, in the safety of their bed, they are simply students of each other’s comfort. She presses her nose into the hollow of his neck, breathing in his spice and sweat scent and peppering tiny kisses across new pink skin. He sighs and pulls her closer, his strong arms grasping her tight and steady.

For all their open talk, she’s not sure Zuko would know how to ask her for the gentle touches that he melts into so completely. Only by carefully chasing his sighs and shudders has she learned to feather her fingers across the nape of his neck, to whisper barely audibly in his ear how _good_ he is, how she can’t get enough of him. 

And Katara’s never had anyone hold her quite like this, anchored and secure, ensuring she feels so quietly cared for. She’d have been too embarrassed to request it if she even knew how. But he has studied her how she has studied him, like she is his element; like he is hers. And so they let their new love wash over them with the afternoon sunlight.

* * *

Prying themselves from bed early that evening feels like a heroic effort, but Zuko’s stomach keeps rumbling, and Katara wants to grab a bite before Aang returns with Toph from the estate. Katara suspects that the Avatar may be avoiding her company, and the day has been stressful enough—he shouldn’t have to face her if he isn’t ready.

Katara is relieved to find leftover dumplings, rice and broth in the cooler, and Zuko bends a low flame over the cooking coals. As she reheats their meals over the stove, he closes his palms around her sides. His hot fingers trace the curve of her waist, slipping just under the hem of her top. She leans backward until she’s pressed fully against his chest, and his hands slide around her stomach, pulling her close.

“Zuko?”

“Hmm?” 

“Someday...can we come back here? For a real vacation.”

“You would want to?”

“I really like it here.” Katara removes the food from the stove before turning to face him, hooking her arms around his neck. “Maybe we could even visit, just the two of us.” 

“I’d like that.” Zuko’s voice is eager, though the strain shows around his eyes. The uncertainty of every plan she dreams for them tugs on both their hearts, but Katara can’t help it. She has always _needed_ something to look forward to. Maybe it’s a side-effect of South Pole winters spent watching for that first pink finger of sunrise after months of darkness, or maybe she really is a hopeful sop, but it’s the only way she knows how to keep going. 

And it’s not like Zuko’s any better, with his dreams of sharing summers at the South Pole and winters in Caldera, of benevolent Fire Lord Iroh, of founding international academies, of sponsoring books of all-nation myths and tales. Maybe he can’t help it either, a byproduct of years spent at sea chasing a near-impossible future. 

What was it Toph had said to her? _You gushy idiots really are made for each other._ Katara hopes so.

Her plan to sneak dinner back to their balcony is interrupted as Zuko walks past the open dining room door. “Did you get some rest, Flameo?” Suki’s voice calls out.

When Katara and Zuko poke their heads into the room, they find Sokka and Suki seated in front of nearly empty plates. They’re both smiling, and it’s such a natural sight that Katara almost forgets that it’s the first time she’s seen them so fully at ease in over a week.

Sokka gestures to the full plates she and Zuko carry. “Break bread with us, sis, hotman.”

Katara glances to Zuko who nods. Katara only realizes how hungry she is when she begins to inhale her warm, salty meal, and she’s never seen Zuko—whose table manners are usually impeccable—tuck into his food with such zeal. Sokka and Suki watch them with a mix of amusement and concern.

“Quite a day, huh?” Suki prods, and when all that elicits is a small grunt from Zuko, her tone softens. “How are you guys doing?”

“A little exhausted,” Katara admits between bites. “And _famished_ , apparently. Glad to be back here safe and sound.” 

Zuko looks up from his plate. “I know we really need to be thinking about how everything we learned today fits into our plans. I’m sorry for disappearing this afternoon.”

“And you’re not going to apologize for spending said afternoon canoodling with my sister?” 

“Can’t say I was planning on it, no,” Zuko says with a raise of his eyebrow before Katara can tell her brother off.

Sokka turns to Suki. “Can you believe the nerve of this guy?”

“Sokka, sweetie,” Suki lays a consoling hand on his arm, “I’m pretty sure the intimidating big brother ship sailed the minute you allowed yourself to be bribed with a plate of kale cookies.”

Sokka grips his chin in thought. “Worth it,” he says, turning back to Zuko. “And anyway, I’m pretty sure attempted kidnapping by a crazy cousin is enough to justify a few hours off.”

Katara isn’t surprised when Zuko deflects; he had barely admitted to _her_ how much he’d needed their afternoon of quiet affection. “Do you guys think the Rhododendron Society could really change things for us?” 

“We’ve been trying to work that out ourselves,” Suki says. “I mean, we both think Rizam and Shama are trustworthy.”

“We think so, too,” Zuko says, and Katara never thought she’d be pleased to hear someone speak on her behalf so casually, but Zuko talks like they’re partners, and Sokka and Suki seem to be working that way again, too. _How it’s supposed to be._ Katara’s heart leaps hopefully.

“We were thinking we should at least run our rudimentary plans by them tomorrow,” Sokka says.

Zuko nods. “Makes sense to me.”

“But...which plan?” Katara asks.

“Yeah,” Sokka winces. “That’s kind of the thing, isn’t it?” His and Zuko’s successful Boiling Rock rescue mission had returned some of her brother’s surefootedness after the failed invasion on the eclipse. But Sokka’s lingering self-doubt has become apparent to all of them in recent days as he struggles to come up with the master plan for taking down the Fire Lord.

With Zuko’s knowledge of the Fire Nation capital and Suki’s eye for stealth, Sokka has drafted up at least fifteen different infiltration plans, but whenever he finds a single hole in the operation, he starts over—a neurotic loop that has only escalated in recent days as Suki has avoided his company.

“Your plans aren’t the problem, Sokka,” Zuko insists. “They’re all good until the final step.” It’s a familiar conversation. Zuko has reminded them over and over that no matter how stealthily they enter Caldera, isolate Azula and corner Ozai—as long as the Fire Lord lives, the sages will follow him. And Aang will not agree to end the monster’s life.

“Well,” Katara wades in carefully, “maybe Shama and Rizam will have some ideas.”

“Maybe,” Suki says, “though it sounds like, even at their most active, their group wasn’t much of a military force.”

“Yeah,” Sokka adds. “Wrecking a munitions factory isn’t really the same as charging into Caldera and seizing the reigns of power. So it’ll be interesting to see what they have to say, but I wouldn’t put all our eggs in that basket.”

Zuko sighs and hangs his head. “Sometimes I really wish I’d taken my father out the day of the eclipse when I had the chance.” 

“No, Zuko,” Katara insists. “You made your choice so that the Avatar could bring the world balance and peace. And he _will._ ” Katara believes these words as she says them, but she can hear how hollowly they fall in the air. She can see the same despondence in the slump of Sokka’s shoulders and the tension in Zuko’s jaw, and there must be something she can say to help them.

“You know what I could use, hotman?” Sokka turns to Zuko. “A good, old-fashioned fight.” Sokka mimes sweeping his sword across the table, and Zuko brightens so visibly that Katara doesn’t even bother to mention that they might want to wait for their food to digest. Zuko needs this, too, Katara realizes, just like he needs her affection. And not for the first time, Katara replays the fervent way Sokka claimed Zuko as a brother in the Rhododendron Society’s dim parlor, smiling softly.

“You two seem awfully cozy,” Suki remarks after the boys depart.

“I could say the same of you guys.”

“I’m not your brother,” Suki wags a warning finger. “That trick won’t work on me.”

“Well, I’m not really trying to hide anything,” Katara says, realizing that for the first time this is absolutely true. “Zuko and I, we’re good. Really, really good.” Her cheeks warm. How simultaneously strange and ordinary it feels is to gush aloud to her friend, like they’re two normal schoolgirls chatting on a weekday afternoon, not two young warriors trying to halt the world’s destruction.

“Do you want to go into the courtyard and watch the show, then?” Suki flexes her biceps in an exaggerated pantomime of machismo that ends up just looking impressive. 

“As tempting as that sounds, I imagine Aang will be back any minute—”

“—And you’re avoiding him.”

“And I’m giving him space.”

Suki narrows her eyes, but doesn’t push Katara further. “Well, I’ve got a pretty good view from my balcony, if you wanna hang there.”

Katara hasn’t spent much time in Suki’s room—Ursa’s room—and she finds herself lingering on details as they make their way to the balcony door. The walls are painted a maroon so rich it’s nearly violet and hung with silver-threaded tapestries. If most fine Fire Nation spaces tend to cultivate a certain gilded austerity, Ursa’s room reminds her more of what Ta Min’s estate must have looked like in its prime. The beach house’s rooms had been so in need of dusting and scrubbing when they arrived that Katara knows Suki’s efforts are partially responsible for the room’s pristine elegance.

The balconies on this side of the house look out over the inlet where she and Aang waterbend as well as a rocky stretch of shoreline, all washed in warm-toned evening light. Suki leads Katara to a long, elegantly carved chestnut bench with polar leopard fur draped casually over it. Katara recognizes the pattern of spots—she has curled up with this very pelt hundreds of times—and she imagines Suki nestled here under her brother’s arm, laughing as she lets her head fall onto Sokka’s shoulder. 

Katara runs her palm along the fur as she takes a seat. “So I guess you finally sucked it up and talked to my brother.”

“He was the one who came to me, actually.”

“He did?” 

“You say that like you haven’t been nagging him about it everyday.”

“Well, Sokka doesn’t usually listen to me about this sort of stuff.” Katara folds her arms across her chest. Just days ago, when she last spoke to her brother about his relationship trouble, Katara had been unable to convince Sokka that the Kyoshi Warrior wasn’t giving him the brush off.

“I think it was actually something Zuko said that made the difference.”

“Excuse me—my _Zuko?_ ” Katara huffs.

Suki’s laugh is bright and mirthful. “Oh, wow. Yes, _your_ Zuko.” She clasps her hands to her chin and bats her eyes like a lovesick girl from a romance scroll.

“Oh, shut up.” Katara rolls her eyes. “He didn’t even realize you guys were fighting.”

Suki shrugs. “Well, I’m sure it was a _real_ meeting of the minds.”

Katara snorts, then clears her throat, attempting Zuko’s raspy drawl. “Well, I don’t know, buddy, have you considered talking to her?”

"Whoa, whoa, hotman,” Suki throws her arms out to her sides in Sokka-like enthusiasm. “What a completely revolutionary idea that you definitely thought of all by yourself.” 

“You know me,” Katara waves woodenly, struggling to keep a straight face, “Zuko here, crown prince of reading the room.” 

Suki can’t hold back her laughter, and Katara joins in.

“But Suki, my brother did apologize, right?” 

“He did, yes. And in retrospect, I probably could have figured out what was going on with him if I really thought about it. I mean I was just mad because he was being a jerk. And I was even madder at myself because I felt like a dummy getting upset over the most idiotic play ever written.” Suki sighs. “I just felt like he didn’t even _care_ that I wasn’t part of his story.” 

“Hey, that sucks,” Katara says, “And then he acted like nothing was wrong. You had every right to be upset.” 

“Yeah.” Suki closes her eyes. “I guess feeling like I didn’t matter to him kind of made me feel like a fool for even _being_ here.”

“You know Sokka’s not the only one who needs you here, right?” Katara places a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I don’t know how I managed without you, Suki.”

“I don’t either, to be honest,” Suki teases, “and—I know, Katara.” 

“Good.”

“But when I was at the Boiling Rock...after none of my escape plans worked. I admit it. I dreamed that Sokka would come for me like a full-on damsel in distress.”

“It’s not weak to want help, you know.” Katara hesitates for a moment. “Or to want love. You helped me understand that.”

“And I still believe that. But when I was imprisoned...I just didn’t feel like me. I was so used to leading this elite, unstoppable team, and we’d been outmaneuvered. And then, well, Sokka _did_ rescue me. And now that I’m here with you guys—I mean, you’ve all been so good to me, but you’re the Avatar and his masters, and Sokka’s the plan guy. Sometimes I feel like I’m just here because I’m his girl. Becoming friends with you and Toph—that’s helped a lot. But when I felt like I didn’t matter to Sokka, it made me feel...kind of lost.”

“You know they’d have gotten trapped in that spirits-forsaken prison if you weren’t there, both our idiots. And you have _always_ mattered to Sokka.” 

“I get that now. I mean, I was over here feeling overlooked while he was obsessing about me leaving him after a war that we don’t even know how to win. Classic Sokka, really.”

“Thinking twelve steps ahead is the easiest way to trip over your own two feet. That’s what Gran Gran always told him when we were kids.”

“I think I’d really like your Gran Gran,” Suki says, voice a little wistful.

“She'll really like you too,” Katara says. “I mean, assuming you and Sokka decided to—you know.” 

“Yeah,” Suki can’t help her small smile. “We want to. To figure it out, I mean. The way you guys are.”

“Well, you should know that you’re stuck with me no matter what happens,” Katara says, “but I’m really glad, Suki.” Katara wraps her arms around her friend, and Suki squeezes her back tightly. 

“Am I interrupting something?” They both glance back to see Toph standing at the open balcony door. “Suki, you’ve gotta be careful or Sugar Queen’s gonna infect you with her _gushiness_.” 

“You’re back!” Suki scoots to the side so Toph can sit with them on the bench, but the earth bender plops down right on the balcony floor. “You guys stayed for a long time.”

“Yeah,” Toph says. “Twinkletoes and Rizam really hit it off. He’s a really philosophical, learned guy. And they’ve got the huge collection of Airbender artefacts in that bunker, so Aang got caught up going through them. Shama’s pretty cool, too. I think she really wants to help Zuko find his mom.”

“That whole thing was kinda news to me,” Suki says. “I always thought the Fire Lady was dead.”

Katara nods, glancing back into the elegant bedroom. “Even Zuko thought so. Then Ozai suggested otherwise on the day of the eclipse, but he wouldn’t confirm if it was true. He said just enough to taunt and torture Zuko.”

“That man really is evil,” Suki frowns. “I guess eclipse day was a nightmare for all of us.” 

“Were you already at the Boiling Rock when it happened?” Katara asks.

“I was.” Suki shudders. “I only figured out what was going on later. They kept us locked in our cells for...I don’t know how many hours. More than a day. No water, no meals, not even bathroom breaks. I didn’t know it was happening to everyone at the time. I thought maybe they’d decided to starve me out.” 

“That sounds awful,” Katara whispers. 

“Yeah, that place was no joke,” Suki says with steel in her voice. “Sounds like Lake Laogai isn’t any better.”

“It’s a nightmare, Suki.” As long as she lives, Katara will remember unknotting the jagged, tangled chi paths of Jet’s mind with her bending, the horror in his eyes when he remembered what he’d lost. She will never fully shake the feel of his organs crushed and failing under her palms, the dank walls closing in around them, forgiveness she couldn’t grant in time, a second chance for no one. “We have to help get Ayana out of there.”

“We have to fix the whole damn place, that’s what we need to do,” Toph says. “And I’m not just talking about that damned prison, either. The Fire Lord may be the immediate threat right now, but Ba Sing Se has been a nightmare for a long time.” 

Katara sucks in air through her teeth, picturing the hollow gazes of a room of Joo Dees. “I wonder what life is like there right now.” 

“Probably as bleak as it was before, for most of the people in the outer ring,” Toph mutters darkly before turning to Suki. “The illustrious capital of our fine nation. And now Azula’s probably just let Long Feng run wild over the whole damn kingdom.”

“Yeah,” Suki frowns. “Our capital. Our kingdom.”

“Sorry, sometimes I forget you’re one of the unbothered Warriors of Kyoshi.”

“Toph, don’t be unfair,” Katara warns.

“But she’s right, Katara.” Suki fiddles with her arm band. “Kyoshi Island pretty much flew under the radar throughout the war. But after what happened to us when you all first came through—”

“When Zuko set your village on fire.” Katara says, and Suki studies her expression for a moment then nods.

“After that, it was clear we couldn’t stay out of the war forever, even if we wanted to. And I didn’t _want_ to anymore. I know I’ve said I believe in the Warrior’s Creed, and I do. But that old messed-up attitude of who cares if the world burns as long as Kyoshi Island remains green and pristine?” Suki takes a breath. “Well, _me_. I care. And my warriors care, too. When this is over... we have a lot of time to make up for.”

“It’s not just you guys, you know,” Toph says. “I mean, after the siege, the capital basically just walled itself off. _There is no war in Ba Sing Se—_ so the rest of you can rot. Unless you’re as rich as my parents, that is—then you can buy your way anywhere.” 

“And that’s what they did, your parents?” Suki asks.

“That’s what all of the upper crust, Upper Ring types do, all over the kingdom. They go to their fancy-dress parties and they get fat off their bison steaks, while in poor villages, the markets get looted and the earthbenders get imprisoned.”

These impassioned words catch Katara off guard. “No offense, Toph, but I didn’t realize you cared so much.”

“I didn’t.” Toph shrugs. “I mean, the Earth Rumble attracts benders from all over, so you hear all sorts of stuff. Before you guys, I was pretty happy to kick butt and mind my own business. But... _maybe_ you do-goody hero types are rubbing off on me, just a bit.”

“Aw, thanks, Toph.”

“Whatever, Sweetness.” Toph shrugs. “I mean, I sorta figure, if we’re already fixing the world...maybe we could bring some of that home.”

“I’m here for that,” Suki says. “Sounds like there’s plenty of work to do.”

“Yeah,” Toph agrees. “I mean, I’m not saying the Fire Nation propaganda machine isn’t totally messed up, but those idiots cheering at that play, they at least feel like part of something. I wonder if it would have been so easy for Fire forces to pick off colonies if the Earth Kingdom wasn’t so fractured.”

“Or if we weren’t all so busy looking out for our own little corners of the country.”

“Yeah, or maybe the Earth Kingdom is just too big to be ruled effectively, period.” Toph says.

Suki leans forward to rest her chin in her palms. “But either way, it will need to be stabilized after...everything. That’s what you’re getting at, right?”

“Exactly, Warrior Princess,” Toph says. “You know, if the whole country doesn’t get burnt to a crisp first.”

“We’re _going_ to stop Ozai,” Katara insists.

“Yeah, yeah, Sweetness. I know,” Toph waves her off, but Katara can see the anxious set to the earthbender’s shoulders. “At least it feels kind of good to make plans for after, you know?”

“Yeah,” Katara glances between her two friends, so strong and proud, each of them so beautiful in the early dusk light. These are the sisters she always wanted—different than she would have pictured—tougher and sharper tongued. And perfect. For a moment Katara lets her mind conjure their shared triumph: hugs and shoulder punches and tears of joy. ”Yeah, it does.”

* * *

The next day, the group’s conversation with Shama and Rizam begins about the way Suki and Sokka predicted. The Rhododendron Society can’t call upon a large force—but they can still pull together a small strike squad with experience sabotaging Fire Nation airships and a few small aircraft of their own. Katara can see Sokka’s eyes light up at this. 

Shama and Rizam evidently began reaching out to their network even before Zuko and Katara appeared at the estate. And while they’ve only been able to reach a portion of their original membership, they still have contacts on nearly every island of the Fire Archipelago—including a handful of active Fire Sages. They also still have the supplies needed to turn around written materials quickly and in high volume, and an enduring network of firebrush artists.

Katara had been too stressed to reflect on it the first time they met, but Shama is a gifted storyteller—it’s evident in the way she relays their efforts, their eagerness to contribute—and she’s keen to lend her talents. 

“I hope you all haven’t had the misfortune to see that mockery of a production our island players are putting on about you,” Shama says, and Toph snorts.

“No such luck, sadly,” Zuko says.

“Unfortunately,” Rizam says, “that’s just a taste of the types of tales the Palace is spinning about your group.” 

“Oh, perfect,” Aang mutters.

“Well,” Shama squares her shoulders, “they’re not the only ones who can spin a story.”

Zuko frowns at this. “I don’t want to spread lies to our people.”

“That’s the great thing about all of you,” Shama says kindly. “We wouldn’t even need to embellish. You really _are_ heroes.”

“We’re also just dumb kids.” Aang frowns. “We’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

“That’s even better.” Rizam says. “You’re _relatable_ heroes.”

Sensing their hesitation, Shama clasps her hands before her. Today she’s wearing a dress similar in tone to the walls of Suki’s beach house room. Her straight, shining black hair is streaked with gray around the temples, and with her kind, golden eyes she looks just how Katara imagines Zuko’s mother. “I’d urge you to consider it this way,” Shama glances from the Avatar to Zuko, then—surprisingly—to Katara, whose gaze she holds. “the Fire Lord is a tyrant. Many of our people hate him. But this country has been fed lies for generations. You’re going to need people to believe in you. To do that, you must begin to get your story out there.” 

“Guys,” Sokka breaks the uneasy silence, “I think it’s a good idea. The sooner the population is on our side, the better.”

“It will take time, anyway,” Rizam says. “Why don’t you let us give it a try, and if you don’t like what we write, you can change things around or shut it down.”

“Okay with me,” Aang says.

“Sure,” Zuko agrees, “fine.” But Katara can tell he still doesn’t like the idea. There remains a part of him that doesn’t believe his people will ever see him as anything but a scarred disgrace. She resists the urge to go to him and set herself firmly at his side; she knows Zuko wouldn’t want the extra attention.

“Hey, Snoozles,” Toph cuts in. “You wanna show them your plans for taking out His Royal Fieriness?”

Sokka unrolls his scrolls full of sketches and detailed notes for Shama and Rizam to review. As they peruse, Katara takes the opportunity to look around the parlor more carefully than she’d managed amid yesterday’s chaos. Not since Wan Shi Tong’s library has she seen so many fine books and scrolls, and Katara imagines how she would have reacted to seeing this place just a year ago, when she’d never seen so many books in her whole life.

“Palanquin attacks Two and Three look pretty strong,” Rizam says, tapping one of the open scrolls with his knuckles. “Your drawing skills could use some serious work, though.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Sokka folds his arms across his chest.

“He’s joking,” Suki assures Rizam with a smile. “I’m partial to Palanquin Two, myself.”

“And the Royal Spa strategy seems like a good way to isolate Azula.” Shama glances to Zuko. “She keeps a pretty regular routine?”

“She did when I was at the Palace, yes.”

“What kind of feedback were you looking for?” Rizam asks. 

Sokka nudges Aang, who sighs and steps forward. “I want to find a way to end this without taking the Fire Lord’s life.”

Silence fills the room uncomfortably, and Shama and Rizam share a worried frown. Rizam clears his throat. “Aang, I know you were raised to live by the Wind Sutras. But have you considered that as Avatar, the role you play for the world might need to supersede in moments of crisis?”

“I just need to know if it’s possible,” Aang says—the hopeful plea in his voice squeezes Katara’s heart. “You said you have contacts among the Fire Sages. Do you think you could convince them to depose Ozai, if I was there? I could give the Avatar’s official condemnation.”

Shama’s expression twists in sympathy, but she shakes her head. “I do not think that is possible, no. There was a time, long ago, when the Avatar, not the Fire Lord, commanded the ultimate allegiance of the Fire Sages. But that era has long passed. If the Sages who are sympathetic to our cause attempted such a coup, they would likely be executed on the spot.” 

“I see.” Aang’s shoulders slump.

Shama steps forward and takes Aang’s hands within her own. “You are such a gentle spirit, Avatar Aang. It is to be commended. But I fear that you are now called upon to do that which my grandfather could not.”

Rizam walks to her side and speaks to Aang gently. “I am sorry that after what happened to our people, yours is such a grim task. A grim task for a new world of peace.”

Aang hugs his arms tight across his chest. When he speaks, his voice is small but steady. “But how can we start a world of peace with an act of public violence?” 

And what answer can any of them give?

* * *

When the group returns to the house, the punishing late-summer sun is high overhead. On a normal afternoon, Katara and Aang would be halfway through their daily waterbending training, and she finds herself wandering down to their inlet. 

The Avatar had walked ahead of the group on the journey back to the beach house, and it had been hard to quash the impulse to go to him, wrap an arm around his back and find just the words to make him feel better. But she can’t keep mothering him. Not about this, not today. 

Katara barely hears the light shift of sand at her side when Aang settles next to her, a few feet further away than usual. When she looks over at her friend, Katara has a brief impression of the Avatar’s true age—there’s a certain ancientness to the strain in his eyes as his gaze tracks the white splash of tide against sand. Momo is wrapped around his neck. The whole scene is familiar, only now Aang has truly let her go. 

And part of Katara wishes for the old simplicity, for splashing around with him in Earth Kingdom rivers, the comet a distant worry, their friendship new and wonderful and easy. But she wouldn’t trade finding Zuko to get that back. And even then, Aang harbored feelings she could never match; Katara understands that now. 

Though when she wandered down to the inlet, Katara had hoped Aang would join her, now that she’s here, she finds herself unsure of what to say. The quiet between them grows agonizing as she struggles for words.

“Even _you_ think I should kill the Fire Lord, don’t you?” Aang holds a hand up to block the sun from his squinting eyes.

“Aang,” Katara says softly, finding her voice. “If we can find a way to stop Ozai without killing him, I think you should do it. You should _always_ do what you believe is right. But...if the choice is to take the life of the most despicable man in the world in order to save the lives of millions? It doesn’t seem like much of a choice to me.” Katara doesn’t say what she has come to understand deep within her heart—if it were _her_ destiny to cut down Zuko’s father, she would not hesitate. Not for an instant. 

Aang summons a small sphere of water into his palms and cradles it. “It’s just, the monks taught that all life is sacred. I’ve _always_ lived by that. To abandon my ideals, it feels like abandoning the Air Nomads all over again.”

“You didn’t abandon the Air Nomads. You were an upset kid.”

“I _am_ an upset kid,” Aang says, letting his ball of water fall to the sand. “But I know what I believe.”

“Aang,” Katara reaches a hand toward his shoulder, and he flinches. 

Slowly, Katara pulls her hand back to her lap and stares down at her open palm. The silence between them stretches thin as the air above the clouds. Aang shakes his head, dislodging Momo, who leaps into an ocean breeze. 

“You were trying to tell me about Zuko, weren’t you? After what happened at that stupid play.”

“I’m so sorry, Aang.”

“ _Please_ don’t apologize, Katara. That makes it so much worse. Like I’ve made you feel guilty for—for being happy. ” Aang breathes in deeply, then exhales. “And you are happy, aren’t you? With Zuko, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Katara closes her eyes. “I am.”

“And you love him.” Aang looks at her with the pinched intensity of someone digging deeper into his skin to make sure a splinter is fully removed.

“Yeah,” Katara whispers. “I do.”

Aang nods and blinks away from her, toward where their inlet meets the sea. “I did mean what I said, you know. I was so proud of you when you forgave Zuko. I just never expected that would mean...this.”

“I didn’t expect it either.”

“It’s just—ever since you found me, you’ve always been at my side. I kind of assumed you always would be.”

“I _will_ be.” 

Aang pins her with a pained look. 

Katara bites her lip. “I know, that’s—it’s not the way you wanted. And the timing...it’s not what I wanted either. You have too much on your shoulders already.”

“I’m _glad_ I found out, Katara,” Aang says. “I’ve known something was off for a while. I mean after what I did at the play—you had every right to be mad at me, but before that…I thought I’d done something to upset you.”

“No, Aang. I was mad after the play, yes. But you’re a _really_ good friend. You’re still—you’re still my best friend. If you want to be.”

“Always.” Aang smiles sadly. “I just wish I could...have some space, you know, some time. Because I’m not gonna lie. It kind of hurts to look at you at the moment...especially when you’re with him. But I also—I really need my best friend right now.” 

Katara’s heart aches. “Maybe we can take it one day at a time?”

“Okay,” Aang gives a small, hesitant nod. “Let’s try that.” 

The Fire Nation sun beats down on their shoulders, and when Aang suggests they take a dip in the inlet, Katara agrees eagerly. For a while they simply float on their backs in silence. Blue skies, still waters, just the two of them—it almost feels like old times.

“Hey, Aang?” Katara says.

“Yeah?”

“What you said about me to Iza yesterday...it meant a lot.” 

“It was all true.” Aang pauses. “Can I ask you one thing? About yesterday?”

“Of course.”

“Did you really bend her blood?”

Katara swallows. “I did, yeah.”

“I thought you said you were never going to do that again,” Aang’s voice isn’t accusatory, just confused.

“I didn’t want to,” Katara says quietly, “but I couldn’t figure out another way to save Zuko.”

“So he’s more important than your ideals.”

Katara jerks up sharply, planting her feet. “ _Excuse_ me? What are you implying?”

Aang winces. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like I was judging you. You’ve always allowed me to make my own choices, even when you didn’t agree. I just—I was thinking about the Fire Lord.”

“Because your ideals say you can’t kill him.”

Aang nods sheepishly, and Katara can feel her flare of anger begin to dissipate.

“I don’t know, Aang. I think it’s different for me. What I was raised to believe in…I guess it wasn’t as...I don’t know...ideological. Like, there are ways to treat people and animals with respect. And it’s important to give gratitude to the spirits, of course. And you need to honor your elders and do your part to keep your people safe and fed, especially your family.”

Katara takes a breath, and Aang nods for her to continue. “So I guess it’s like...most of my ideals—they’re _about_ serving and honoring people, especially my family. So to choose to protect someone that I love...that felt more important than my reservations about bloodbending. I’d have done it for any of you.”

“Yeah,” Aang looks a little haunted. “I guess you would have.” And only then does Katara realize that if the Avatar had been the one she needed to save from death with her darkest gift, he wouldn’t have wanted her to do it. Her stomach twists, and she drops backward into the water like a fallen tree branch.

Aang has always drawn a line between what he believes is right for all people and what he believes is right for himself, even if he has occasionally struggled to maintain that boundary. He has never questioned Katara or Sokka for enjoying meat or wearing furs. And even though Katara knows he abhors bloodbending, he will not condemn her choice, especially now that he understands why she made it. This ability to differentiate between the teachings of his culture and a set of ethics that apply to everyone is part of what makes her friend a good Avatar. But in the end, it’s not _everyone_ ’s responsibility to take down the Fire Lord. It is Aang’s alone. 

Katara thinks over the anxiety she has seen in all their friends over the last few days—the flippant jokes, the tense postures, the way they wave off her certainty that the Avatar will succeed—and for the first time, she feels their worry, too.

* * *

That night, Katara and Zuko are talking through her realizations on their balcony, sharing moon peach juice and sunset light. “All I mean,” Katara says, “is that I see how it’s messed up, to tell this peace-loving person that he has to abandon everything he believes in to kill a man, when he was taught it’s wrong to kill even the smallest insect.”

“So what does he think he did to the Fire Nation naval forces at the North Pole?”

Katara glances at Zuko with wide eyes. “There were—losses?”

Zuko raises his eyebrow at her incredulously. “Didn’t you see what he did to the fleet? You think firebenders can survive being hurled from their ship and washed into the freezing ocean?”

“I didn’t see, really...we were at the Spirit Oasis,” Katara says quietly. “I don’t think Aang knows that people died.”

“Then he’s being intentionally obtuse.” 

“I don’t know, Zuko,” Katara shrugs miserably. “He was fused with the Ocean Spirit at the time. And besides...action in the heat of battle is different than marching into someone’s city and executing him in front of his sages and citizens.”

“So Aang is willing to kill a man as long as he doesn’t have to look him in the eye? As long as he doesn’t have to see the body? Or is it that he won’t do it in front of a crowd?”

“I don’t think it’s any of those things, Zuko. I think for Aang...living by his beliefs. Well…” Katara considers her next words with care. “I think it’s like you upholding your honor.”

Zuko glares at her just how she knew he would, but then he sighs. “So what are we supposed to do?”

“Either we need to convince him that saving the world is important enough for him to compromise his ideals, just once. Or we need to figure out a way for Aang to stop your father without killing him.”

“In less than two weeks,” Zuko leans back on his elbows. “I know which option I prefer.”

Katara nods. “I mean, I know which I would choose if I was Avatar,” she says. “But...I do think there’s something to what Aang said about violence being the wrong way to begin an era of peace. I mean, _he_ was made Avatar for a reason.”

“Maybe,” Zuko says softly.

“We’ll figure it out, you know.”

“Do I?” He asks, flipping his palm to meet hers. “At least _you’re_ hopeful enough for the both of us.”

Katara scoots closer so that she can lean back against his chest, and Zuko shifts his legs to accommodate her. She’ll never get used to the way the warmth of him eases the tension in her muscles. For a while, they just sit, letting their breathing sync and watching a flock of birds chase the horizon.

“Hey, Zuko?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really grateful for you.”

“Your _handsome prince_?” He teases.

“Of course.” Katara smiles softly. “But also...for accepting me. You know, um. All of me. Even the dark parts.”

Zuko pulls back to study her face. “You know you can’t scare me off, right?” He lifts her hand to his lips, and when she just closes her eyes, he continues. “What first drew me to you—it wasn’t just your goodness or your compassion or your hope. I mean those parts of you are amazing, but I _like_ that you can get angry, that you’ll do anything for—for the people you love. That you feel the hard things so deeply. ” 

“Because you get it,” Katara resists the urge to reach for his scar. Zuko closes his eyes and lowers his chin against her shoulder. “I wish you didn’t have to get it,” she whispers. 

Zuko pulls her even closer to him, holding her so tight she can feel his voice rumble through his chest. “At the moment, Katara,” he says, planting a kiss on her forehead. “I’m having a hard time resenting anything that led me here.” 

And if love is like waterbending, then Katara thinks Zuko is mastering the form quickly, the way he seems able to summon every soft particle from the sky to cloak around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some processing after the drama. Next chapter picks up the pace (in its own way) as we head toward...what’s coming.
> 
> Thank you so much for your support. Posting pace may stay ~every other week until work slows down and/or my seasonally affective brain can absorb enough sunlight that weeknights feel generative again.
> 
> I am so, so grateful for all of you who read and show love for this story! Your kudos, bookmarks and comments honestly make these winter days.
> 
> 2/13 update: 👋👋 in case anyone is peeking in, the next chapter is well underway! But I am having some pretty miserable neck and back pain that are making it hard to sit at the computer (especially since I do so for the job as well), so it may be a little extra time before the next update is posted. Which sucks because it’s one I’m especially excited for. #FeelingOld. Hopefully no more than a week delay from here, but I’ll update if that changes.


	15. The Last Ten Days on Ember Island

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still here <3 and I brought you a long one.
> 
> If I were bolder, I’d have called this chapter Tales of Ember Island.

Two weeks before the comet, Toph stops sleeping at the house.

The collective anxiety in the royal residence has reached such a clamor that even with her feet propped in the air, she can’t seem to catch a wink.

Have her friends always been this damn noisy? She doesn’t need to hear Sokka mumbling absurd, tangled plans in his sleep nor Suki panting in the courtyard as she trains late into the night. Certainly, Toph could do without the desperate sounds Katara and Zuko draw from one another in bed and the whispers that follow—those two can keep that jumble of hormones and mush to themselves, thankyouverymuch. And Aang? He’s the worst of all.

The Avatar probably seems unusually somber to the rest of them, but his form buzzes with a quiet fear that Toph can’t escape, no matter where in the house she goes. And at night it’s triple-bad, all the tossing and turning then worrying levitational _absences_.

_So you want to keep your head in the damn clouds and doom the whole world. That’s just peachy, Twinkletoes. Could you at least let me rest in peace?_

But the insomnia, at least, isn’t Aang’s fault. Toph is the one who can’t shut it all out. And what that means…well, it _can’t._ Not _now._ Toph is the Blind Bandit, the greatest earthbender on the planet. She has only just invented metalbending; she has only just found her _real_ family; she has only just begun to conjure dreams for a world they’re about to lose…

Enough. She feels for the rocky hills outside her window, enticingly solid and silent. The room she’s been staying in was Zuko’s once. Even abandoned for a decade, Toph recognized traces of his scent as soon as she set foot inside. Tucked away from western sky and sea, this sunless space had probably been assigned to Zuko as an insult.

But as far as stuffy rich-kid bedrooms go, Toph considers this one not half-bad, with its collection of dragon figurines and a balcony nestled between two jutting stone outcroppings. And now, its location makes her escape even easier.

Toph tells no one she’s headed into the hills. It’s nobody’s business where she rests her head, and it will be simple enough to sneak back in well before breakfast. By this point, her friends know better than to interrupt her power sleep. And if she drags Zuko’s childhood blankets with her for a little extra comfort, well, her friends certainly never need to know about _that._

And so Toph balls the bedding into her dusty pack, steps onto her balcony and bends a bridge to the nearest rocky hill. Who would have thought that Fire Nation terrain would be an earthbender’s dream? Each island they’ve visited features uninterrupted miles of smooth-bending volcanic stone. Toph takes a branching path from the one to town, breathing in the balmy, breezy midnight air.

She has always liked the nighttime, when polite society sleeps, when her sensory advantage feels most pronounced, when the best creatures rustle to life: cat owls and skunk bears and badgermoles. She wonders what animals she can hear now, clambering and clicking around these foreign hills.

When she finds a narrow nook tucked between two craggy rock faces, Toph drops her pack and lifts a trusty triangular tent around her. Even the taste of the air in her enclosed stone haven is a balm. And when she flops down onto her earthen mat, she finally, finally finds what she’d been looking for: blessed silence.

It lasts only a moment.

A high pitched chittering filters through her heavy walls. Momo? Out here? Toph bends a small entrance, and the winged lemur soars through, landing on her shoulder. She has never been a great favorite of Aang’s smaller familiar—too short to make an advantageous perch and too possessive of her food to be a popular dinner time companion.

But here he is, chirping into Toph’s ear as he tugs her night shirt in the direction of the house.

“I’m not running away, Momo. You don’t have to worry.” Toph runs a tentative palm along the lemur’s soft spine. “I just came out here to escape the squawking iguana parrots we call friends.” After a moment, Momo drops her shirt and settles into the crook of her neck.

Toph carefully climbs back onto the stone she bent to cradle the curve of her spine, stretching her blanket on top of her. Momo hops onto her chest, walking in a slow circle before tucking himself into a comfortable ball—the same warm space where the badgermole pups used to curl up when she lived in their den.

Toph hasn’t had trouble with sleep since the first time she returned to her parent’s house. After acclimating to the badgermole’s underground lair, where every sound and rattling motion had a meaning, the walls of her parent’s fancy mansion suddenly seemed way too thin, vibrating with nonsense—the endless shuffling of service staff and her mother’s empty yammering. And so Toph had taught herself to rest with her feet in the air.

“It’s like closing your eyes, isn’t it?” Sokka had asked when she first joined their group.

“How am I supposed to know, Snoozles?” Toph had shot back, waving a hand in front of her face. But she imagines the effect is similar. Toph has propped her feet every single night for years now, and it has always enabled her to shut out the world. So what on earth is happening to her _now?_

Safe within her earthbent walls, she tries to shudder her panic free. She can feel Momo lift his chin to examine her, and the words just fall out of her mouth. “I think I’m losing my stuff, Momo,” Toph says in one wavering breath—the first time she’s spoken the fear aloud. “Like the way Sparky burnt out when he first joined up with us.”

Momo chirps, leaps to the side of the tent and taps the walls with his tiny fists.

“I can still bend, obviously.” Toph says. “You probably don’t know much about earthbenders.” The lemur offers no discernible response. “Well, I’m the best one. And that’s not just me being conceited either.”

Toph lifts a Momo-sized block of stone from the ground and contours it to match the lemur’s sleek shape. She can feel him circle her creation, tail wrapping around his rock doppelganger as he sniffs curiously.

“Most people think I’m the best because I’ve got such a powerful command of my element,” Toph says. “And I mean, why bother correcting them? It’s not like I’ve ever met an earthbender stronger than me. But that isn’t what makes me the best.” She can hear Momo climbing onto his stone replica’s back, and she wonders when he last felt the shape of another creature just like himself.

“The rest of our friends, they think I’m the best because I can sense _everything_ ,” she says. _“_ But that’s not really it either. Like, let’s say you’re at the Earth Rumble. Of course you can hear the other guy’s taunts, you can feel his heel hit the ground, but that’s all a distraction. It’s actually the tiny movements in his standing foot as he tries to balance that _really_ tell you what he’s up to. That’s what nobody gets, not even Twinkletoes, even though I’ve been trying to get it through that thick skull of his.”

Momo squawks and taps his chest.

“Well, maybe you get it, with these big flappers.” Toph runs her fingers along one of the lemur’s long, soft ears, and Momo lets out a happy whistling breath. “When you pick up as much as we do, it’s knowing what to pay attention to and shutting out the rest of the nonsense that’s the real skill. _That’s_ what makes me the best, Momo.” Toph blows her bangs off her forehead. “And it’s _falling apart._ ”

Just speaking the fear aloud seems to dislodge something in Toph’s chest, and she lets out a long, shaky breath. For all she had grown up complaining about the stifling barriers her parents placed around her, Toph has come to rely on her own walls. Wall out the crowd’s jeers. Wall out Lao and Poppy’s inane dinner conversation. Wall out the sob story of the new Rumbler whose fruit stand was trashed by Fire Nation soldiers. Wall out the Gaoling kids, orphaned by war, begging for spare change outside the Rumble doors.

Join the Avatar for the feats of bending badassery, but wall out the dire urgency.

Wall out the way Aang’s heart races whenever someone mentions the Southern Air Temple. Wall out the way Katara’s voice cracks or steels when she talks about her mother. Wall out the way Sokka tenses anytime one of his plans forces the group to split up. Wall out the way Suki’s jaw clenches when anyone mentions the Boiling Rock. Wall out the way Zuko sucks in his breath when he walks past his father’s old bedroom. Surely they all have reasons why this war has hewn their reflexes. Not reliable, pampered Toph, behind her perfect walls.

Except that’s not true anymore, is it? It feels like Toph lowered one measly barrier—allowed her stupid, wonderful friends into her heart, let herself dream with them, just a little—and her entire fortress crumpled.

In recent days, once the house has stilled enough for her to sleep, her dreams have spiraled into blazing death-scapes. Lao and Poppy’s screams as a sky of fire falls upon them. The Rumble ceiling collapsing in burning stone. The racked sobs of a thousand Joo Dees. And worst of all: her friend’s stilled heartbeats under Azula’s sky-filling cackle.

And Toph has no control over what happens next. It’s Aang’s choice, Aang’s duty. Aang with his ridiculous, fierce idealism. And the thing is, if _Toph_ were Avatar, she wouldn’t hesitate to smash the Fire Lord into the Caldera ground with his own palace walls. But Toph wouldn’t change a thing about Aang if she could.

She really _has_ become a stupid sop.

Momo climbs back onto his still-warm spot on Toph’s chest and tugs on her collar gently. “You probably like the peace and quiet here too, huh?” Momo chirps and nuzzles his head under her chin. Toph knows the lemur doesn’t really understand what she’s saying—how many times has she teased Aang for claiming Momo is a good listener? But she thinks she gets it now. Because Toph doesn’t _want_ her friends’ concern or advice. But it feels _good_ to let out what she’s feeling and be heard, to accept this creature’s gentle attention, away from the royal residence’s anxious rattle, tucked safely within her stone boundaries.

The lemur wraps his long, sleek arms around her neck, and she lets his warm weight lull her to sleep. In the morning, Toph feels more like herself.

When she sneaks out the next night, she finds Momo waiting for her in the hills, and the two of them settle into a nightly routine.

* * *

Twelve days before the comet, Suki dons her warrior paint.

She has just finished haggling with her favorite grain merchant at the market when she sees a familiar streak of red and white and a trailing ponytail out of the corner of her eye. “You’ll have to excuse me, Shen,” Suki says, stepping away and bowing politely.

She drops the hefty parcel of long-grained rice into her satchel, slings the bulk across her back and sets off silently through the market square. She passes the dolphin fish fountain, the fruit-seller’s sweet-smelling stacks of mangos and moon peaches and the flower merchant’s buckets of sea-daisies, slinking around the corner where she saw the girl disappear. Yet the whole cobbled residential street appears empty.

Suki stands still and silent, finally catching a muffled, distant giggle. She straightens her back, striding down the vacant street with apparent purpose, until she hears the sound again. She finds a narrow archway between two old buildings that leads to a back alley. She tiptoes through, crouches in the shadows and listens.

“You’re doing it all wrong, Nako,” a shrill voice taunts. “You’ve gotta paint the red all the way down your nose.”

“No way,” another girl replies waspishly. “We’re _warriors_ , not messenger hawks.”

Suki creeps around the corner for a closer look, and sure enough there are four girls, the eldest no more than ten years old, in various haphazard iterations of Kyoshi face paint, standing before a long, cracked mirror. Suki finds herself assailed by quick-flitting memories—the clash of getting-ready voices she once woke to every morning, the cool swirl of her mentor’s brush against her browbone, the cheers that rose from her sisters after her first victorious spar—and her heart sings with longing.

Maybe that’s what propels her forward, even though she knows it is unwise. “Actually, you’ve painted a pretty nice shape.” Suki walks up to the mirror, placing a hand on her hip, startling the girls. “Nako, is it?”

The two youngest girls—twins, Suki thinks—dart behind the eldest, owner of a familiar ponytail. “Don’t come any closer, stranger.”

The second-eldest, the one with the high voice and the red-painted nose, comes to stand at Ponytail’s side. “We’re the defenders of this market.”

“I can see that.” Suki restrains her grin and holds her hands up placatingly. “I haven’t seen face paint like yours since I visited Kyoshi Island.”

Red Nose’s expression flickers with wonder. “You’ve been to Kyoshi?”

Suki nods and chances a few steps closer. “I have.”

Two pairs of round eyes peek out from behind Ponytail’s skirt.

“That’s so _cool,_ ” one of the half-hidden girls whispers.

“Did you meet the warriors?” the other asks.

“Were they really _all_ girls?” Red Nose wants to know. “In the play they were all girls.”

“They are,” Suki smiles, probably a little too proudly, “just like you.”

Ponytail narrows her lovely tawny eyes. “I’m pretty sure Fire Nation citizens aren’t allowed on Kyoshi Island.”

Suki folds her arms across her chest and raises an eyebrow. “I was visiting my uncle in the colonies, and my cousin and I snuck onto an Earth Kingdom ferry.”

Ponytail mimics her posture, raising a brow in turn. “Likely story.”

Oh, this girl has _potential_. “I can prove it.” Suki reaches beneath her outer skirts, into the pocket she’d sown onto her culottes. When she removes one of the half-dozen fans she stole from the Ember Island Players’ backstage, the smaller girls sneak fully out from behind Ponytail. And by the time Suki has the fan fully open, they’re in an admiring circle around her.

Ponytail studies the contours of the weapon with careful eyes before blinking back up to Suki. “You said I painted right.”

“The shape is right around your eyes,” Suki says, and turns to the second-eldest girl. “And definitely no red here,” Suki taps her own nose, “but you’re all missing the brows. Do you have black paint?”

One of the smaller girls—definitely twins—walks back to the old broken table where they’ve arrayed their face paints and brings the black pot to Suki.

“Can I touch you up?” Suki asks Ponytail who hesitates then nods.

“I’m Suki by the way.”

“Nako,” the girl says quietly.

Suki smiles gently as she positions Nako so her face catches the most sunlight—her smooth, sandy skin shows through in uneven bristle-strokes. “I’ll fix the white first,” Suki says. At her request, the twins return to the table to bring white and red paint pots, a few extra brushes, a bowl of water and a washcloth.

“You did a pretty good job, Nako,” Suki says. “But there are tricks to getting an even base.” The rest of the girls crowd behind Suki as she paints. “It helps to use a bigger brush, so you can buff it a little.” Suki demonstrates the motion with the narrow, bent-bristled brush she’s been handed. “That helps if you don’t want to see the strokes. But in this case, I’ll try to follow the shape of your face. Just hold still.”

Nako does as she’s asked, her posture proud; she would make an ideal recruit. “The white actually represents suspicion and treachery,” Suki says, and Nako’s eyes blink open inquiringly. “The story goes that Avatar Kyoshi learned to paint this way from a group of outlaws she was part of. The white was the face they showed their enemies.” Suki gestures for Nako to look at herself in the mirror, and the girl frowns slightly.

Suki gently turns Nako’s chin back to face her. “But the red around the gaze, that represents honor, and the loyalty that always shows through for those you trust.” Suki takes a narrow brush and dips it into the red. “You should extend the line a little further, past the corner of your eyes, then all the way up to the hair line. Then you can use that edge to guide your brows.” Suki curves the black paint in a neat arc across Nako’s browbone, then up, before lining her wide, intelligent eyes. “There you go.”

Nako turns back to the mirror and investigates her face at every angle. Finally a small, satisfied smirk breaks out across her serious face.

“Do me next!” Red Nose calls.

“No, me!” the twins chorus.

“I have time to paint all of you,” Suki says, considering the position of the sun overhead. Sokka has been so caught up in his notes lately that he probably won’t wonder why she isn’t back to start working on dinner for another hour yet. And part of her is glad for the excuse to stay out longer. She truly believes that if anyone can puzzle their way through a deathless Fire Lord takedown, it’s Sokka. She keeps thinking one day she’ll return to her room, and he’ll beam at her, lift her up, spin her around and say, “Suki, I’ve got it!” Each day this fails to happen, Suki feels a little more privately frantic, and Sokka doesn’t need to see that.

So Suki takes her time, touching up each girl’s face with care. She’d loved doing this with the younger trainees back home, teaching them the proud, beautiful geometry of a warrior’s facade. She’s just finishing the second twin’s makeup when she finally indulges her curiosity.

“So you said you saw the Kyoshi Warriors in a play?”

“You mean you _haven’t_ seen _The Boy in the Iceberg?_ ” The other twin asks, voice pitching high. “Everyone’s seen it! They even performed in the square.”

“Oh, I saw it,” Suki assures the girls, “but the Kyoshi Warriors were barely in it. Wouldn’t you rather dress up like the Fire Princess or her friends?”

Nako wrinkles her white-painted nose. “Those noble bitches?”

“Nako, language!” The twin Suki is currently painting hisses, jerking her head and smearing red paint into her hair. She glances up at Suki sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Not a problem,” Suki wets a washcloth and dabs the girl’s hairline.

“They _are_ spoiled noble brats, though,” Nako insists. “And the Kyoshi Warriors, _they_ are tough girls, like us, who just want to defend themselves and their home.” Suki’s eyes flit across the girls’ attire—careworn collars and patched knees. She had noticed this before on her trips to the market, how the Ember Island townsfolk weren’t affluent like the beach-front vacationers. Likely they supported their families by serving the nobility who holiday here.

“It’s important for girls to be able to defend themselves,” Suki says carefully; based on what she’d seen from Azula and her cronies, then at the Boiling Rock, she’d assumed Fire Nation women were trained in combat. But thinking back, she wonders if that only applies to nobility and benders.

“Especially here,” Nako agrees. “There are a lot of thieves at the market. And sometimes the noble men get drunk and they, um,” Nako glances from Suki to the young girl she’s painting, “cause trouble.”

“I see,” Suki says, swiping the final black line across the young girl’s eyebrows. “Then Ember Island is very lucky to have a fearsome band of warriors like you.”

Suki lines the girls up in front of the mirror so that they can examine their fierce, beautiful faces. Other than their garb, these girls look identical to any class of new recruits on Kyoshi Island, and Suki feels a familiar swell of pride—yet in this moment the sensation is somehow brighter, sharper.

Suki walks over to Nako and places her fan into the girl’s palm.

Nako tries to hand it back. “I can’t accept this.”

“I think a warrior should have it.” Suki holds Nako’s gaze then raises her eyebrows and speaks slowly. “I think that is what the protectors of Kyoshi would want.”

And Suki’s pretty sure Nako had already suspected, but the girl’s eyes flash, then narrow. She bows to Suki, a slightly awkward motion, and clears her throat. “Thank you…just.” Nako glances away. “I don’t know how to use it.”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to meet me back here tomorrow morning.”

And maybe Sokka will chide her for this uncharacteristic risk, for her decision to return with more fans for Nako’s sisters, for spending hours of their last days on Ember Island teaching Fire Nation girls to fight. But trusting girls like Nako, and growing strong together, has only ever made Suki feel safer.

Suki pats the girl’s bony shoulder and heads for the alley.

“Wait!” Nako calls. “At least let us paint you.”

And so Suki returns from the market made up like a warrior—a little ironic, considering that the very reason she has been deemed the Designated Market Friend in the first place is that she’s the least conspicuous—and yet no one stops her or comments on her walk home. She even passes a couple young kids dressed as Aang in the town square.

How hungry these people must be for new heroes, Suki thinks, and she recalls what Shama told them, about the power of stories. Suki thinks about Nako and her sisters—the warriors they deserve to become—and she thinks about her warriors, probably trying to break free from some Fire Nation prison right now. And for the first time in weeks, Suki feels a sense of searing purpose.

When she arrives at the door to her bedroom, Sokka looks up from his war desk—he has transformed Ursa’s old cherry-wood vanity into a makeshift workspace— and does a double take. And he doesn’t lift her in the air and spin her in circles and say, “Suki, I’ve got it!” the way she dreamed he might. He doesn’t have it yet, the answer they’re all hoping for.

But Sokka does stand to embrace her. “There she is,” he says between kisses, red paint smeared across his lips. “My beautiful warrior.”

* * *

Ten days before the comet, Sokka goes on a very long genius walk.

That’s what Suki calls it when he hits his scroll-crumpling threshold and she exiles him from her room to wander the rocky hills. Today he’s been especially ruthless with his own quickly sketched brain-children. He even ripped up a few particularly hopeless pages.

Suki, in her arch but loving way, had kissed Sokka’s cheek and shoved him toward the door. “Go ambulate, smartypants. Get those brain gears grinding. I’ll clean up the wreckage.”

Sokka never _wants_ to go—he is always certain that the right answer is just one page away, and what if he misses his chance to take it down?

“Your war desk will be here when you get back,” Suki assures him before shutting the bedroom door.

It _does_ feel good to move, Sokka admits to himself as he sets off along the path toward the northwestern cliffs. Gran Gran always said that there was a connection between walking and thinking—a lesson passed to her from the healers back North, how a person’s stride could change the pace of pumping blood and parading thoughts.

Dad was a believer. Before he left for war, Hakoda often strolled around the perimeter of the village after particularly difficult tribal council deliberations. Sokka followed him whenever he could manage, peeking from behind tents and igloos, watching his father’s steady, even stride across the tight-packed snow. The goal was never the pace or destination; Hakoda sometimes paused to consider the stars or talk to members of their village. But by the time the chief returned home, he almost always had worked out his own mind on the matter of the day, or at least acquired a new perspective on the problem.

Sokka’s Ember Island ambles have not yet yielded such generative results. But then, each day that goes by, he becomes increasingly convinced that he’s strategizing the impossible—to defeat the Fire Lord without taking his life.

Sokka reaches a familiar fork in the path. He skips the onerous cliffside rock scramble, opting instead to explore the gentle hills of the palm-lined inland trail. He has no destination in mind, but Sokka knows the general curvature of the island and its efficient system of roads and paths; one can fault the Fire Nation for a great many things, but their infrastructure really does leave the rest of the world in the dust.

And their leader would leave the rest of the world in ash.

Sokka can’t let that happen. Maybe it’s Aang’s job to stop Ozai, but it’s Sokka’s job to _figure out how,_ isn’t it? He’s not a master bender and he’s not the Avatar, but he’s been here from the very start, and he _must_ have a role to play.

Perhaps Sokka just needs to think bigger, wilder—to bring together unconventional ideas with methodical processes. That’s the Sokka trademark, after all, the winning way. “Throw in a dash of luck,” Suki would say with a smirk, and Sokka would say, “Well, I am a lucky man,” and he’d pull her close…and La he has a lot to live for.

He walks past a strip of shops hawking sporting goods, beach umbrellas, and fried food. Sokka almost stops in to buy himself some genius grub at the snack stand, but a gold-framed portrait of the Fire Lord inside the window turns his appetite.

Somehow the guy manages to look malicious even in his court portrait. Sokka would like to wipe that hint of a smirk right off the Fire Lord’s face. And the thing is, Sokka has drawn up at least a dozen brilliant plans to do just that. Ambushes outside the Caldera. Entrapment inside the palace. Air ship sabotage. Some of his best work, really.

But Zuko’s right—what comes _next_ is the real snag. It’s a cultural problem. The Fire Nation deifies its leader and values demonstrations of strength. Capture Ozai alone, and Azula succeeds him. Capture Ozai and Azula quietly, and the people revolt. So long as the Fire Lord lives, his subjects will follow him. No grand speeches about peace and freedom from the Avatar will stand in for a true show of power.

Sokka reaches the top of a sandy hill. Over a wide slope of seagrass, he sees a fox falcon break its circling path and dive for ground—a near-vertical maneuver. When the bird surges skyward, a limp lizard tail dangles from its beak. A clean kill, then. Sokka feels a strange sort of envy.

In desperate moments, Sokka has certainly entertained uglier plans. Plans where Aang is either kept in the dark or kept away entirely while one of their other friends does what is necessary. But that’s no fix either. Zuko’s intercession would likely cause a civil war, and an attack from any of the rest of them would only fan the flames of international conflict. And even if it were otherwise, Sokka will not betray Aang. What kind of leader would that make him? What kind of brother?

Sokka’s path crests the final inland hill on this side of the island—the sea is in view now, and somewhere out there—somewhere even Hawky can’t seem to find—his father. When Sokka wanders this way, he usually walks to the marked scenic overlook then begins heading back.

Today he continues on. Perhaps feeling Yue’s push and pull on the sea will grant him some sort of clarity. He needs _some_ sort of breakthrough _._ Because no matter how many of his schemes Sokka has seen fall through, never before has he felt like there’s just...no plan at all.

Their problem is cultural too, he supposes. Aang is convinced that his selection as Avatar should be a sign that murder cannot be the right answer. And Sokka doesn’t know as much as Aang does about how the Spirits act upon their world, but sometimes he can’t help feeling that Aang is simply selfish, unwilling to navigate the unpleasant emotional repercussions of choices that don’t line up with high-minded, impracticable ideals.

But perhaps Sokka is selfish too. Because he _certainly_ knows how he wants this to end: he wants the Fire Lord dead.

He suspects the rest of his friends feel the same. Every one of them bears this war’s lifelong scars, not all as visible as the one burned across Zuko’s face. How Katara scans even warm, open skies for black snow. The deadly seriousness in the set of Suki’s perfectly formed shoulders when she fights. The way Toph shutters up like the high walls of her parent’s garden when she feels truly threatened. The way Sokka feels naked without a weapon.

Not that Aang doesn’t carry _far_ more than his share of pain, too. Sokka had barely been able to watch the howling swirl of agony at the Southern Air Temple, when the Avatar encountered the charred remains of the realm of light and learning that he lost while frozen under the sea.

But ultimately, Aang had been raised in a different world—one where relentless idealism didn’t inherently signal doom.

Sokka pauses as he reaches the tide line, allowing his feet to sink into the soft sand and letting the warm, clear water wash over his ankles. He looks across the beach, where Fire Nation families sun themselves and splash and play.

The whole scene seems almost perversely serene, a window into a world that isn’t about to burn. Probably, some of these wealthy families had even enriched themselves off a century of the Fire Nation war machine.

Something flies at Sokka’s head. He yelps and springs to action, holding up the backs of his arms to block…the ball? It ricochets skyward and he scans the beach to find a group of guys watching him from around a standing net. He spikes the ball back their way.

“Hey dude, nice hit!”

“No problem, man!” Sokka calls. These guys look no more than a few years older than he is, and he notices a long, arcing slash down the side of one of the players—a sword wound. Were they soldiers on leave, then? And though it’s possible they have stood across the battlefield from him, it’s hard for Sokka to muster anything like hostility as he watches their game. He’s heard the stories from Zuko of young infantrymen used as human shields. No one truly lives better in a society where they are expendable.

Sokka passes a group of kids building a sand palace then a pair of young teenage girls trying to bronze their skin in the sun. He hears them whisper as he walks by, and he can’t resist stretching his arms above his head in a way that emphasizes his shoulder muscles; he smirks when the girls giggle. Toward the far side of the beach, he notices a serious-faced boy creeping carefully and staring furiously at a patch of sand before running back to his family’s beach blanket.

Sokka follows the direction of the boy’s abandoned vigil and startles at a twirl of movement in the sand. Zuko had once mentioned the turtle crabs he used to chase as a child. Curious, Sokka draws closer. The displaced puffs of sand zoom away, toward the stone outcropping at the edge of the beach. Sokka follows, brows furrowed. Behind him, a child’s voice calls, “Stop! Stay away!” Perhaps some older kids are attacking the sand palace.

When he reaches the last place he saw the shifting sand and finds nothing, Sokka glances around him. Spotting nothing out of place, he decides this is as good a sign as any to turn around. He’s famished, anyway.

He turns back toward the crowded beach, reaching down to brush some seaweed off his foot, and feels a strange burning prick in his hand. When he looks down he sees a sinister flash of black and red disappearing into the sand.

 _Definitely not a turtle crab._ That’s Sokka’s last thought before the pain takes over, an ascending fire that feels like it’s surging _inside_ Sokka’s arm. He falls back onto the sand and clutches the burning arm with his other hand.

“Hey! Drop your arm!” a female voice calls. The serious-faced boy has returned with a curly-haired young woman. She grabs Sokka’s arm and pulls it carefully down to his side. “You’ve got to keep it below your heart. That way the venom can’t get all in your bloodstream. Okay?”

Sokka can only grunt. The young woman plants herself at his side and sends the boy to get some towels—Sokka can barely follow what’s happening, awareness circumscribed by agony, until a cold, wet cloth is pressed to his arm, soon swapped for another. His first thought as the pain begins to recede is that he really doesn’t appreciate his sister and her healing hands nearly enough. His second thought is of the Water Parable about the young chieftain who, on the eve of his first battle, is so eager to prove his strength he bends a wave that carries him so far out to sea that by the time he makes it home his men have fought and lost.

“Any better?” The young woman asks.

Sokka manages a nod. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Not really, though a cool compress _does_ help with the worst of the pain.”

“Why did you go chasing a fire scorpion, anyway?” The boy asks, wrinkling his nose.

“Hey!” Sokka grits out, “You chased it too.”

The boy folds his arms across his chest. “I was observing safely from afar.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” the woman says, flashing Sokka a grin. “he’s been stung three times already this summer.”

“You’ve got a gutsy kid,” Sokka says.

“Oh,” the young woman laughs. “He’s my younger brother. I’m used to bailing him out of trouble.” Sokka glances back at their large blanket. There are at least three other kids glancing their way. And maybe their parents are just back at the house or walking across the beach, but Sokka sees something familiar in the woman’s gaze.

“My sister does the same for me,” he says.

“Well, you’ll have to tell her about the compresses when you get home.”

Sokka smirks at that, but nods. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

On the walk home, Sokka’s arm goes from throbbing to numb to....absolutely still. It’s like a rogue limb—dangling uselessly at his side, cut off entirely from his mind.

When he gets back, Katara’s glowing hands help return feeling to his arm, but she forbids him from using it. “No more writing for the rest of the night.” She makes sure to share this instruction with Suki, so all he can do is pout and complain…and relax. For the first time in over a week, Sokka finds real rest.

* * *

Eight days before the comet, Katara gets invited to tea.

It’s not so unusual for one or more of them to find Shama’s hawk waiting on the main door’s turreted perch with requests for visitation as she pens their story. But Katara has yet to be summoned at all, and today’s missive arrives with more than the usual date and time. Katara is to attend afternoon tea, dress traditionally and prepare to be received as an honored guest.

“What does that even mean?” she asks Zuko over breakfast after he returns from his morning training session. They eat on the house’s front steps because he refuses to sit on the indoor furniture when he is sweaty, and today he is perspiring and scowling—an increasingly familiar state after his mornings training the Avatar.

“You don’t have the right clothes,” Zuko says, handing the letter back to her. “Shama should know that.”

“Oh,” Katara blinks at his abruptness. “Should I go to town and buy some?”

Zuko shakes his head. “I’m sure we can find something here.” He runs his eyes over her, his expression inscrutable. “My mother had many beautiful robes that would be appropriate for tea.”

An hour later, after a hushed conversation with Suki, Katara stands in front of the tall mirror in Ursa’s old room, frowning at a freshly-bathed Zuko. She is draped in cool silk, more vibrant than the pinkest roseberry. The garment is more expensive than any Katara has ever worn, and though it was clearly designed for someone taller, its seams fall perfectly across her shoulders. She thought she would feel like a girl playing dress up. Instead she feels bright and lovely, and this, perhaps, unnerves her more. “I can’t wear this, Zuko. It’s…” _your mother’s_ “far too fine.”

“Nonsense.” He steps up close behind her so their reflections stand together—Katara in unfamiliar finery and Zuko in the traveling clothes she laundered for him yesterday, his hair now grown past his eyes, his deft hands gently fixing the elaborate tie at her back. His voice emerges gruff and quiet. “You look beautiful. I think Mother would be pleased.”

Zuko isn’t a liar, and everything Katara has ever learned about Ursa paints the picture of someone wise, open-minded and terrifically kind. But does that mean she would be truly happy to see a Water Tribe peasant cloaked in her fine robes, planning a future with her only son?

And if Katara’s own mother saw her right now, would she even recognize the girl in the mirror? Katara reaches for the bare skin at her throat, and Zuko pulls her closer. Just a few nights ago, he found her standing over her dresser, shoulders shaking, clutching her mother’s necklace in her palms, and he had held her from behind just like this, and whispered in her ear. _Soon, you will wear it always._

How well he has learned how to lift her back up to the crest of her hope when her optimism falters and fear pulls her under. And yet, he would say it is her steady tide of confidence that enables him to catch her when she stumbles. Katara never knew another person _could_ balance her this way, that she could find someone who understands her temper so well that he knows just when to let her ride it out and when to soothe her. They’ve been sparring more to wear out their extra nerves. And the other things they do together in the night and the morning, sometimes in the afternoon—whenever they find themselves alone in his room, really—those help calm her, too.

Katara keeps Ursa’s gorgeous garment tucked carefully in clean linens as she makes her way up the steep path toward Ta Min’s estate, only wrapping the bright-hued fabrics around her as she reaches the ostrich horse stables. She struggles to tie the delicate closure at her back the way Zuko managed so deftly then walks to the house’s main entrance. “Just mirror her pleasantries,” Zuko had said. “That should be fine.”

And so that’s what Katara does. When Shama answers the door, looking radiant in peach, Katara follows her to a sun-filled, dustless room she hasn’t seen before. When Shama folds her knees beneath her and sits, Katara does the same. When Shama bows, Katara bows. When Shama turns her cup, Katara mimics the motion.

Katara has always been good at following cues like these—it’s a little like turning a sparring opponent’s move around on them, or mirroring a friend’s concern until they open up. Katara has found this skill especially useful on her travels, as she has encountered different cultures and customs. There’s a certain pleasure in anticipating what people want from her then delivering it with flourish (or subverting it with gusto, when the situation calls for it). Katara waits for Shama’s gentle gesture to sip and then she does. The tea is beautiful and frothy, and she says so.

Shama smiles. “You really are a lovely girl.”

Katara rests the warm bottom of her cup in her palm and raises an eyebrow. “You were testing me.”

“No,” Shama’s smile widens to a fox-like grin. “You, of all people, do not need to be tested.”

Katara lowers her eyes, cheeks coloring. “Then why did you go to all this trouble?”

“Well, your part of the story _does_ need a bit more attention than the rest,” Shama says. “And I thought it might be nice if your very first time at a formal tea wasn’t in front of a dozen advisors waiting for the Water Tribe bumpkin’s blunder.”

Katara studies Shama carefully. She and Zuko certainly hadn’t hidden their relationship from his newfound family, but to her knowledge neither of them had spoken of their hopes for the future. “Why does my story need extra attention?”

Shama raises her eyebrow at Katara, as though the answer is obvious. “The hero’s narrative always does.”

Katara’s cup almost falls from her hand. She places it carefully before her knees. “But that’s Aang. Or maybe since you’re writing for a Fire Nation audience, it’s Zuko.”

“Oh, their stories are important, too, of course. All of you have a role to play. But you’re the one who set the whole saga in motion, Katara. You’re the heart of it. Don’t you know that?” When Katara says nothing, Shama continues. “Unless your friends are telling it wrong, without your strength, bravery and compassion, none of us would be where we are, with the chance to end this war.”

Katara sinks back onto her knees, frowning, stunned silent.

Shama tries a different approach. “Can I tell you something I have learned from my work, about how to tell a good story?”

Katara forces herself to meet Shama’s appraising gaze. “Okay.”

“There’s a common way to weave a narrative that begins with a character’s destiny. Most of the Fire Nation Myths and Tales are this way, if you’ve read them.”

“Some, yes,” Katara says.

Shama nods. “Those stories start with the character’s great fate, and then the telling shows how the hero fulfills what was promised of him. People do _like_ that kind of story. It helps them feel that no matter how hard life becomes, the world is how it’s meant to be. The status quo can endure.”

“That makes sense.”

“But you know what story stays with people longer?” Shama asks, and Katara gestures for her to proceed. “The one where the hero is born to an unknown destiny, but they dream and they strive and through their hope and hard work, they become great.” Shama pauses to give Katara a meaningful look. “People _love_ that kind of story. Do you know why?”

“Because of the suspense?”

“Sure, that’s part of it,” Shama agrees. “But even moreso, people like that kind of story because most of us, we aren’t the Avatar or the prince of any nation. We don’t grow up knowing our destinies. We forge them ourselves.”

“Oh,” Katara breathes. And she’s still not sure what to think about being called a hero, but she can feel a sense of hope and purpose rising in her chest.

“And now, ” Shama continues, “we live in a time when the world is _not_ how it’s meant to be, when the status quo _cannot_ endure.” She takes a breath. “And when it changes, it will be because of you.”

“Because of _all_ of us.”

“Yes. But people do not understand that the Avatar is just a bright and powerful young boy. The story of your friendship will help them see that. People think the Fire Prince is a bitter, dishonored disgrace. The story of your love will help them love him, too.” Shama takes a deep breath and reaches for Katara’s hands. “And you, you act with bravery and honor, the virtues of a Fire Nation hero, as well as with the compassion this nation must learn once more… _You_ are the hero people need, Katara of the Southern Water Tribe.”

Katara stares into her half-empty cup and blinks back tears.

Shama clears her throat. “Would you allow me to say one more thing, slightly more indelicate?”

Katara nods and meets Shama’s careful golden eyes.

“The people need your story, yes...but you need it, too. More than any of your friends,” Shama places her cup on the ground facing Katara’s, “if you are to earn the respect of the elite of this country. I assume that is your hope. I notice you arrived in the Fire Lady’s robes.”

Katara’s brows pinch; did something about these robe’s mark the station of their wearer? Had Zuko failed to mention this? “I didn’t mean to be presumptuous—this was the only proper garment we could find.”

“And he had you wear them,” Shama says with significance.

How far away the dreams and plans she and Zuko whisper about in the night seem, barely more than a week away from the comet, with no concrete plan for victory. She’s not even sure how to feel about the words _Fire Lady,_ or rather, she feels a thousand conflicting ways. But for the continuation of their story, Katara cannot fail to hope.

“Okay,” Katara says, folding her hands across the rose silk covering her lap. “Where would you like me to begin?”

* * *

Six days before the comet, Zuko steps inside his father’s Ember Island bedroom for the first time.

For weeks, he has hurried breathlessly past its walnut wood door as though his father might burst through snarling at any moment—a childish fear he has not even shared with Katara. Today Zuko arrives at the room with purpose. No matter the Avatar’s choice, Zuko too will meet his fate within the next week. And how can he hope for triumph if he can’t even face a long-empty room?

He rolls his shoulders and closes his hand around the ornate gold handle, molded into the national insignia. The treble points of flame poke into his palm. He breathes in and yanks.

He breathes out and tries to summon a glimmer of the awe a glimpse into this forbidden chamber once inspired. The details are as he remembers: deep red-lacquered walls, the whole room cast in a heavy amber light, so that the intricate inferno embroidered across the wall tapestries flickers like true flame: building, consuming. 

A thin layer of dust coats the floor; in it, Zuko can see a single set of footprints that stretch halfway to the bed, then retreat. Zuko had wondered why none of his friends had chosen to stay in the house’s second-largest chamber, nor the largest one, Azulon’s golden lair.

Had one of them stepped inside this room and sensed the evil its walls once held? Because as he finally steps past the threshold, Zuko feels…nothing. He forces himself to walk the perimeter of the space, waiting for—rage, satisfaction, fear, disgust, despair, _anything—_ but apparently he can’t even have that.

Zuko finds the source of the odd lighting, a filmy gold screen stretched across the room’s wall of west-facing windows. He shoves it aside, letting afternoon sun flood the space. Clean light glints off the massive canopy bed, the wardrobe, the gilded incense table, the candelabras. The tapestry flames take on a certain playful delicacy.

Zuko’s attention snags on his father’s desk, and he moves closer. He runs his fingers across the dust on its surface. He tests each drawer, but they’re locked—as he expected—all except one, a long narrow drawer beneath the flattop, apparently wedged shut incorrectly. A corner of parchment peeks out from one side. Zuko reaches for it, gently tugging the drawer open as he frees the scrap.

The dislodged parchment is empty aside from uneven, unintelligible inky scratches, as though his father used this page to break in a new pen, twirling haphazard lines until the flow of ink evened to clarity. It’s such a mundane artifact that Zuko feels his throat tighten slightly. He falls to a seat in his father’s old chair, and examines the rest of the drawer’s contents.

Mostly, it is lined with pens and ink cartridges, but wedged in the far corner, Zuko notices a neatly tucked scroll. He unfurls it carefully, then drops it onto the dusty desk.

It is a depiction of his mother, inked and colored in the court style, looking especially lovely, staring out toward the sea, a dark-haired baby bundled in her arms.

It must be Azula, by the pink of the swaddle. _As if father would have kept any rendering of you, Zuzu._ Still, the visual catches him off guard; it was clearly rendered by an admiring hand. He had never known his father to dabble in any arts, so had Ozai commissioned it? And he must have approved of the work, to keep it tucked so close at hand; even on the island, Zuko’s father had lived at his desk.

Zuko had long assumed his parents’ relationship to be one of political convenience—in public, his mother had always been attentive and dutiful, though in memory Zuko can recognize the signs of despair, despondence, perhaps even defiance. And yet Ozai must have admired his wife, at least for a time. Could he have loved her?

So taken by his thoughts, Zuko fails to hear the footsteps until his fellow visitor is mere feet away. Zuko stands. He expects Katara—perhaps wondering why he hasn’t returned to bed for his usual afternoon rest. But he turns to find Aang watching him with wary, curious eyes.

“Can I see that?” the Avatar asks, gesturing at the illustration.

Zuko hands it to him.

Aang studies the lines of the work for a long moment, then hands it back, saying nothing. These silences have become the rule lately between the two of them. Zuko almost feels nostalgic for those days when he worried that his feelings for Katara would rend his fledgling friendship with the Avatar.

For Zuko, the hardest part is that Aang’s firebending grows stronger each day. He has come to truly believe that Aang is powerful and clever enough to defeat Ozai. “What’s the point of all your gifts if you won’t make use of them?” Zuko had finally shouted at the Avatar a few mornings ago after a particularly heart-pounding spar. Aang had only hung his head and walked away.

The next morning, Zuko had apologized. “I do respect you,” he’d said to the Avatar, instead of the thousand ways he felt. They have spoken about nothing but bending since.

“He kept the portrait in his desk,” Zuko offers lamely, filling the empty air.

“So you understand.”

“I understand what?”

“There is a human being, somewhere in there.”

Zuko feels his lips curling downward. “You’re seriously going to defend him?”

“No. But a horrible person is still a _person._ There’s gotta be another way.”

“Like what?”

Aang frowns, staring out the window toward the sea. “I don’t know.”

“Well, none of the rest of us do either, Aang,” Zuko says. “We’ve all racked our brains for weeks trying to come up with some way for you to live up to your high and mighty morals without giving up everything. I doubt Sokka’s slept a full night in weeks.”

Maybe it’s wrong to keep going, maybe Katara will scold him for this later, but the words fall from Zuko’s lips into the stale air. “The rest of them won’t say it to you, but I will. It’s time to give it up, Aang. The comet is less than a week away, and now you’re not being some righteous moral hero, you’re being a _coward.”_

“Standing up for what I believe in doesn’t make me a coward,” Aang says firmly. “I thought you of all people would understand that.”

“No, Aang. Of all people, I understand the _least_.” Zuko’s pacing now, and Aang takes a small step backward. “You think this isn’t complicated for me, that the person who needs to die for the world to be at peace is my _father_? Yeah, he was the worst father of all time, but I still spent my whole life chasing his love.”

Zuko lets out a rattling breath and stills himself against the edge of Ozai’s desk. “You know what I got when he thought I killed you? Invitations to meetings. Nothing like _love_. If he was ever capable of that, that part of him has shriveled up, and all that’s left is a monster. I can say that, and I’m his _son_. Who are you to defend him to me?”

“I’m the Avatar,” Aang says, stepping closer. “I’m the one the spirits have chosen to bring balance to the world.”

“Yes, and you ran from that fate once before because you didn’t like it,” Zuko bites out, and immediately regrets it. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I’m not saying everything that happened after was your fault. But, Agni,” Zuko cards a furious hand through his hair. “Aang, don’t you understand? If you abandon your destiny this time, not only will all of us die, the Earth Kingdom will meet the same fate as the Air Nomads. I know I would give up my honor a _thousand times_ to stop that from happening.”

A look of great sorrow settles over Aang’s open features. “I won’t abandon my destiny,” he says, voice barely audible. The Avatar follows his dust-lined footprints out of the room, leaving Zuko alone at his father’s desk wondering if he’s made a terrible mistake once more.

* * *

Five days before the comet, Aang finally realizes that he must face his fate alone.

He is meditating, as he has every evening for the past week, as the world. 

Through himself, he charts the Great Wind Path. From the cloud summit realm of his youth, he follows the Nomads’ Way.

South he glides, over the world’s bluest waters, fields of every-shaped iceberg, a pole bare of spirit lights, isolated villages huddled close behind shoddy defenses.

West he flies, over volcanoes and palms, cowering towns and golden rooves, a dark-walled palace that would claim even the sky as its domain.

North he soars, past the upside down temple, now half-ruined, shrouded in mist, over the large snowcapped, wind-beating pole of the north, and its pristine isolation, its shivering canals.

East he rides the southerlies, across the green north sea to the largest continent, over patchwork farmland, a fallen city choked in red, waving dunes of golden desert, dense swamplands, more villages than any man could count from above.

But the Fire Lord doesn’t need to count lives to take them in a fiery wave.

And yet the Nomads taught that to destroy one life is to destroy the whole world.

Aang is behind his eyelids once more, red-black in the late sun. He blinks back to his makeshift temple, a room-sized balcony, cast gold by skylight and candle flame. It takes him a moment to realize he is not alone.

“We didn’t want to disturb you,” Katara says quietly, her brother at her side.

“But we did want to talk to you,” Sokka says.

Aang looks between two pairs of blue eyes, shining with identical hope and apprehension. It’s been a while since they were alone, just the three of them, the original group. A smile tugs at Aang’s lips, and he jumps up to grab a floor pillow for each of his friends.

“Thanks, Aang,” Katara says as they resettle comfortably around his platform of candles.

“So what’s going on? What did you want to talk to me about?” Aang tries to keep the eagerness for company out of his voice—the last few days have been some of the loneliest he’s experienced since the iceberg.

“I think I may have found a way for you to take down Fire Lord Ozai without taking his life,” Sokka says carefully.

“What?!” Aang’s eyes widen. “That’s amazing!” He glances between his friends. “Isn’t it? Why do both of you look so nervous”

“Because I’m not sure—” Katara begins.

“Shh, sis, let me tell the story.”

Katara frowns at this—Aang holds back a giddy chuckle—she never has patience for Sokka’s meandering tales, but she doesn’t stop him.

“I was going on my daily afternoon walk, right? You know, getting the blood pumping to the ol’ idea machine,” Sokka taps his forehead. “So, I take my usual path by the western cliffs, nice and easy, you should go some time, lots of palm trees—”

“Sokka,” Katara warns.

“Right, so anyway, then I saw this fox falcon do a totally vertical nose dive.”

“There are fox falcons here?” Aang asks. “I haven’t seen one in a hundred years!”

Sokka lets out a hearty laugh.

“ _Sokka!”_

“What? It’s funny because it’s true!”

“Can you get to the point?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to set the scene,” Sokka protests playfully, but there’s a certain strain in his voice. “Anyway I ended up going to the main beach. Never walked that far before. Nice place. Worth a visit some time.” Sokka glances at Katara’s narrowed eyes. “Anyway, I ended up stepping on a fire scorpion and when I tried to flick it off me, it got me right in the arm.”

“Are you okay?” Aang asks.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine now, I went straight to Katara when I got back. But when I was on the walk home...well. My whole arm, it was totally paralyzed. Like I could see it hanging there, but I had no sense of it…and it got me thinking.”

Sokka and Katara share a worried glance, like they have practiced this conversation, fretting about how it might go, and Aang feels suddenly left out and twitchy. “What if you could...immobilize the Fire Lord,” Sokka continues. “I think there’s one way to stop him from fighting you and make him submit to your authority, without killing him.”

“What are you suggesting, Sokka?”

Here, Katara cuts in. “I could teach you to bend blood without causing much pain. I know we won’t have a full moon, but you’re the Avatar, and if anyone could—”

“Katara,” Aang’s voice sounds like a wounded animal’s whine to his own ears. “You _know_ I can’t do that.”

Katara’s gaze falls to her palms, tucked in her lap, and Aang wishes he’d said it differently, anything to spare the guilt playing across her face.

“Listen, Aang,” Sokka says. “This idea could actually _work._ You’d just have to…bend long enough to make Ozai hand over his crown. Katara could get Azula... If they marched into our custody on their own two feet, in a public place, people couldn’t question it. And you could spare the Fire Lord’s life.”

“By taking his ability to choose away from him? The body, like the life it carries, is sacred.” Aang whispers. “It’d be no better than killing him.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Aang,” Katara says carefully. “Not...not everything is black or white. As Avatar, there has to be a way to find a middle ground you can live with...for the sake of the world.”

“And ring in a new era of moral compromise? The world deserves more. _We_ deserve more.”

“And we can _build_ that world, Aang,” Katara says. “We can spend our lives building that world. But only if there still _is_ a world,” she gulps. “Only if we’re there to make it right.”

Aang hangs his head and walks to the edge of the balcony. He can feel their eyes on his back.

Sokka lets out a bone-weary sigh. “Well, that’s all I’ve got.” Aang can hear the warrior’s footsteps recede into the house.

Katara walks slowly toward Aang and slides her arms across the railings beside him. It’s a familiar scene: uncomfortable silence on a balcony overlooking the Ember Island sea, except instead of a waxing moon, they face a setting sun. 

“This is my destiny, Katara. I…hate that I don’t know how I’m going to do it yet, but I _know_ I will. Don’t you believe that? Don’t you…don’t you still believe in me?”

She turns to face Aang, eyes shining. “I _always_ believe in you, Aang.” He can feel tears prick the back of his eyes at these words, and he blinks rapidly. “But about what comes next...Spirits, Aang, I _want_ to believe. I do. But I want…” Her eyes glitter, wet and wounded in the sunset light, and it’s too much for his heart to take. “I don’t want our stories to end this week.”

“They won’t, Katara,” he says. “I promise.”

Katara offers him a watery smile that doesn’t reach her gaze, wraps her arms around his neck, then walks back to the house. And even though she tries to swallow it down, he hears her quiet sob.

Aang holds his head between his hands. He _believes_ his words, even if he has no way to prove their truth, even if he’s never felt more afraid in his life, he knows that he was made Avatar to bring peace in a way that honors the memory of his people and their future.

But even Katara is losing hope.

Only then does Aang truly understand how completely the others feel he has let them down.

Only then does he understand that at the end of it all, he is alone.

Until a familiar chittering fills his ears and warms his chest. Until a deep, chant beckons him from his dreams to the sea, a call that must be what he’s waited for.

* * *

Four days before the comet, when Toph wakes and Momo is still not at her side, she is the first to know something is wrong.

Aang is not in the hills, where Toph hides any evidence of her earthen tent.

Aang is not at the market, where Suki tells her new warriors to be brave and smart in the days ahead.

Aang is not at Ta Min’s estate, where Shama assures Katara that destiny will yet have its day, and Iza surprises her with an embrace.

Aang is not on the beach, where Sokka decides he will make his own destiny.

Aang is not anywhere in the house—not on the large balcony, not in the servant’s quarters where he claimed a bed—certainly not in Ozai’s room, where Zuko sinks to his knees alone, just for a moment, before they leave Ember Island on their last gust of hope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been planning this experiment for a while now, and I hope you liked it.
> 
> We’ll be back in Zuko’s perspective next time when, after 10+ chapters, we leave Ember Island behind.
> 
> Apologies for the wait on this chapter. I’ve been dealing with an injury that’s been making it hard for me to sit and write for long periods. I think I’m on the upswing now! I can even write in the evenings again. So I’m optimistic the next chapter will arrive more quickly.
> 
> During some frankly painful weeks, your encouraging words and kudos and bookmarks have been a real point of joy, and this story is such a labor of love, so thank you all, and I hope this update finds you in happiness and health <3


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